When September Ends
by Kaede Ravensdale
Summary: All he'd wanted to do was purchase a half gallon of milk from the corner store. Getting kidnapped by a lunatic who thinks he's his husband wasn't a part of the plan.
1. Taken

Harry's green eyes slowly blinked open to stare blearily up at the ceiling overhead before turning his head to one side to take in the unfamiliar room in which he found himself lying on his back, lovingly tucked into a large and comfortable bed. The raven didn't have the slightest idea where he was; the last thing that he could remember was leaving the corner grocer near his house with the half-gallon of milk his mother needed in tow and setting off towards home. His head was muddled and his thoughts were confused.

The bedroom door swung open with a quiet creak and a man stepped into his line of sight holding a metal breakfast tray in his large hands. Seeing him awake his handsome face broke into a kind smile, dark eyes overflowing with love.

"Did you sleep well, my darling?" he purred, crossing the room towards him. "Have you any idea how much I've missed you, Harry?"

"I…" through the warm fog still clouding his mind Harry struggled to speak, beginning to push himself up onto all fours. "How do you know my name?"

The dark haired man chuckled lightly, shifting the weight of the tray of food onto his left arm and using the other to gently push him back against the pillows. "We've been married for five years this coming month, darling." He told him, sliding the tray across his lap before grabbing the chair from behind the desk and setting it beside the bed so that he could sit down. "I know that a lot has slipped from you over the course of your illness. Eat. You need your strength."

"Married…? _I'm nineteen!"_ Harry yowled, attempting to get up again only to once more be firmly but gently pushed down again by the man as he patiently righted the breakfast tray the raven had nearly tipped over.

"At heart, I'm sure, but you turned twenty-five just three months ago now. It was a small affair; just the two of us. But you were still very weak back then. Couldn't even sit up on your own." With graceful poise of wrist and fingers he picked up the fork lying beside one of the plates on the tray and skewered a sausage link on the end of it before offering it to him. "Open."

Harry stared at him, too dumbstruck to even muster a proper glare at the implied suggestion he couldn't feed himself.

"Harry, darling, please. I know that you've all but certainly regained the strength to feed yourself by now but doing simple things like this, well, they've become habit. So let me keep doing this for you for just a while longer: ween myself off of it." The strange man-likely, he'd now reasoned, the one responsible for drugging him unconscious and kidnapping him off the street-offered another smile. This one smaller, slightly self-conscious but no less warm as he poked him gently in the lips with the sausage. "Open, darling. I want you to eat all of this and gain back all the weight you lost to being so ill. I even made all your favorites for you: scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes and eggs benedict. And your tea, of course. I know that this is a lot, but every calorie counts for you at this point."

His efforts to speak again were mistaken as permission to feed him by the stranger who promptly shoved the sausage into his mouth. Left with no choice but to chew if he wanted to avoid choking to death he was forced to postpone his questioning for a moment.

"Now, I don't want to rush you-especially since your body isn't used to consuming so much at once anymore-but I can't stay for very long. As much as I hate leaving you on your own in your condition I have to go to work soon."

Work? He was going to work as if it all were completely normal and he didn't have a teenaged boy he'd accosted and kidnapped sitting in one of the beds in his house? Then again, he was delusional; that much, at least, was starkly clear.

Oh well, his kidnapper's impending criminal fallacy would be his greatly appreciated boon and would give him the chance to escape and find his way home.

Swallowing the sausage ad leaning out of range of the eggs which were next offered he demanded "who are you? And what do you want from me?"

"I see," his sigh was long suffering as he pursued him with the fork. "A bad day today, it seems. It's me, darling. Your husband. Tom Riddle."

"I've already told you that I'm bloody nineteen! I'm not married to anyone, certainly not to you!" He managed to get all of that out before the eggs were shoved into his mouth and chose to consider that a small accomplishment.

"Look at your hand, darling. You're wearing the ring I gave you." This time he picked up the cup of hot tea and offered it to him. With how dry his mouth had become in the wake of whatever the lunatic-Tom-had knocked him out with the raven gladly accepted the drink, the unsweetened liquid offering glorious relief and soothing his throat; his eyes fell to his hands and found a ring of delicate braided gold encircling his finger, glittering with a number of the precious emeralds which had been firmly set into it. "As for what I want, that should be fairly obvious. I want you back to your normal self, as you were before the illness struck you down. I miss coming home to you after we've both finished our work for the day and sharing banter regarding our annoying coworkers. I miss sharing meals with you at our table. I miss your warmth beside me at night. And bedding you of course, because you're marvelous, but that's secondary to everything else."

The final mouthful of scrambled eggs was foisted on him; having recognized by now that appeasing Tom's desire for him to eat would make the other man more likely to answer his questions instead of trying to gag him with the fork every time he opened his mouth-not to mention that his captor was actually a rather accomplished cook, not that he'd be admitting _that_ to anyone-Harry accepted the utensil and swallowed the food.

"Where are we?"

"Home, my love." Picking up the butter knife Tom began cutting up the pancakes. "No more hospitals. No more nurses. No more medications. Don't worry."

"So your Husband, I mean _I've_ , been sick Tom?"

"Yes, Harry." Mindful to keep the syrup and butter from dripping onto the sheets or his clothes, Tom proffered a forkful of the pancakes. "You've been very sick. For a long time. They all told me you were going to die, but I knew that you were stronger than some damned disease. And I was right. You're here with me, now, and you're recovering. You beat it!"

"Yeah. Y-Yeah, I did." Harry supplied, shifting somewhat awkwardly in his position propped against the stack of pillows. "Tom, I…don't remember what I had. Can you…remind me?"

"Cancer. Blood Cancer: Leukemia, to be more exact. It was…horrible. For both of us. I hated to see you suffer like that."

With the bacon, sausage and eggs gone the pancakes half-vanquished and the Eggs Benedict yet untouched Harry refused to accept more food despite Tom's continued efforts to force it on him. Finally relenting with a small frown he set the fork down and stood up, picking up the tray.

"Alright, if you insist that you're finished I won't make you eat anymore even if I'd rather that you did. I'll be back at six for dinner but if you get hungry before then there's a sandwich and thermos of tea in the nightstand beside you." He said, planting a soft kiss on Harry's temple before the raven could act to escape. "Rest up, darling. I'll see you tonight."

With the gentle clattering of cutlery and the faint smell of expensive cologne Tom swept from the room, the door closing behind him with another soft click. Harry remained where he was until he heard the distant thud of the front door closing before he got up and hurried over to the window. Looking out over the yard as a sleek black Jaguar pulled up the long driveway and out of sight. The moment he was certain that he was gone Harry rushed to the door of the bedroom and grabbed hold of the knob in an effort to throw open the door.

The knob gave a weak metallic clunk of protest and the door rattled on its hinges but it didn't open.

 _Locked!_ His heart plummeted through the floor. _The door is locked!_ _ **He locked me in the damned bloody room!**_

Maybe the delusional lunatic wasn't quite so completely delusional after all if he still possessed enough wherewithal to realize that his 'husband' would attempt to make a break for it the moment he had the chance.

Harry kicked the door in front of him, hissing sharply at the pain which flooded through his foot as a result, and limped back across the room before dropping back onto the bed with a groan.

 _I can't stay here._ He thought, glaring up at the white ceiling overhead. _I can't stay here and play house with that barmy madman! I have to get out of here!_

At barely nineteen Harry Potter was _not_ prepared for any of the responsibilities that would come with being the husband to anyone, especially the handsome but obviously unhinged Tom. Wasn't prepared to fill the hole in his life left behind by Harry Riddle who had died of Leukemia.

The instant that the chance to escape back to his real life presented itself he had every intention of taking it.


	2. Lay of the Land

_"Help!"_

The ground was a dizzyingly far distance away down the flat face of the English style manor. The green of the rolling grounds sprawling out before him for what seemed like miles before giving way to a copse of trees. The drive his captor had driven down meandered along its merry way, away from the house which had become his prison and towards the road which was barely visible in the distance. Cars drove by, filled with people. Oblivious. Unknowing of his plight. Wind sighed through the trees and slithered towards him across the tips of the blades of grass. Pleasantly cool against his cheeks, streaked with tears of frustration and fear, as Harry hung haphazardly halfway out of the windows of the room that he'd been locked in.

" _Help me! Someone, help me! Please!"_

It was more of a croak, now, than a yell. He'd been at it for a long time now. Hours, maybe? Definitely. Yes. Hours. Harry had screamed and screamed and screamed his head off in the desperate hope that someone, anyone, would hear him. Sure it was quite obviously private property. Sure, he couldn't see the houses of neighbors within hearing range in any direction. But there had to be someone who would hear his desperate pleas. _Someone_ who had come and help him. A dog walker. A jogger. Someone!

But no one had. No one had heard him, it was nearing five in the evening and even having drained the entire thermos of honeyed tea Harry had almost lost his voice. Soon he'd be seeing the black Jaguar again and Tom would be back.

Maybe he'd have felt greater sympathy for the man who had so clearly short circuited from grief had he not been the one who was being kept like a prisoner in the bedroom of the other man's husband as a result. Now, at the thought of him he could only sneer. The other Harry could very well have died in the very same room he was now stuck in. On the bed he'd slept in.

 _No! No one died in this room; don't freak yourself out needlessly! That lunatic said something about a hospital, so surely Harry Riddle died in a sick ward. Not here!_

He could hope.

 _"Help!"_ Now his voice barely carried at all. Huffing and on the razor's edge of being in pain, throat red-raw from all the shouting, he gave up for the time being and pulled his upper body back through the window. He began to circle again, like he'd been doing between the time he'd finished throwing his entire weight against the door and the time he'd started screaming like a banshee in the hopes of being heard.

Around and around he went. Around and around and around until the room-walls painted in pale gentle hues and floor clad in plush carpet-began to pitch and lurch and he collapsed to his knees. Queasy. Head spinning on his shoulders and his glasses askew. Regretting his actions severely Harry lay on his back on the floor and closed his eyes, waiting until the horrific sensation had passed and his stomach had calmed.

The sound of wheels crunching gravel reached him through the still open window before the vertigo could pass, swiftly followed by the sound of a car door slamming. Then the front door of the house opening and closing. Tom's footsteps reached him through the carpet as he pressed his ear to the floor but he did not approach the stairs.

His respite from the presence of his kidnapper would last for a while longer, it seemed. Best to make some use of it and take a look around the room; Harry had been too busy panicking and trying to escape to really bother doing so before now. Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees he looked around.

The walls, which prior to now he had only registered as 'pale' now solidified into a color that was partially between both blue and grey and the carpet underneath him was a spotless white. The bedframe, desk and accompanying chair were all made of dark polished wood. The rumpled sheets were the precise hue of printer paper and the settee was a soft dove grey. The top of the desk was bare of any clutter of paper, pens and other writing utensils separated into ceramic cups by color and type. The door to the closet-filled, Harry felt sure, with clothes that belonged to someone now rotting in the ground-was closed. The bookshelf, pushed against the wall opposite the bed between the window and the desk, was filled with a wide array of well-tended novels and the top of it had been scattered with numerous pictures in little metal frames.

Harry shuffled closer to get a better look, picking up the first one and examining the snapshot of a happy life lost. His eyes widened at the sight of the vibrant young man who hung from Tom's neck with a smile on his face, dressed in warm clothing and surrounded by falling Autumn leaves. Pale skin. Black hair. Green eyes and round glasses. Maybe an inch or so taller, but otherwise a carbon copy of him. The resemblance was uncanny; incredibly unnerving; it was like he was looking into a mirror or suddenly discovering that he had an identical twin he'd never known about. Though Tom's Harry had been older.

Twenty five. Though that was assuming he'd died recently and not months or even years before.

Harry set it down and picked up another.

A face that could easily have been his own stared back at him with soft eyes, sprawled on his front atop the bed he'd shared with his husband with one of his books open in front of him and a smile on his face. In the reflection in the dark window behind him revealed Tom, smiling back with a camera raised to his face. He set this one down, too.

Every picture he looked at told the story of a relationship filled with love. The type of thing which seldom existed outside the pages of romance novels. Smiles. Eyes filled with the dancing fires of love. Hands held. Lips fitted softly together. But the closer to the far end of the shelf that he drew the more evident the signs of illness became. The vibrancy faded into exhaustion. The healthy glow disappeared. The gentle roundness of his face fell away.

The final picture was painful to look at. Taken, he felt sure, by either a nurse or another of the other Harry's visitors. He sat propped up in what was obviously a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous monitors and surrounded by white. Chest caved in and skin stretched tight over ribs below the hospital robe. Face bearing no more definition than that of a sun bleached skull. Hair gone. Green eyes sunken, shadowed and dull. Held in one boney hand was a single de-thorned rose.

Tom sat beside him, hunched over slightly in the hard plastic seat with the hand which wasn't holding the rose clutched with extreme delicacy between both his own and his eyes focused on the other's face. His dark eyes were still filled with the same love as they have been in the other pictures, as they had been when Harry had seen him with the tray of food in hand. But there was sorrow there, too. The deep gnawing sorrow of someone who was watching everything that mattered to them vanish before their eyes. The eyes of a man who knew that this person who they loved so much was going to die.

And soon.

Tearing his eyes away from the photograph Harry crouched down and began to examine the collection of books instead. Running his hands over the various spines-all hardcover and almost all carefully kept in their sleeves without so much as a dog ear mark on any of the pages-while wistfully reflecting on how his friend Hermione would have loved being set loose on such a collection. _The Odyssey. Gulliver's Travels. The Jungle Book. Moby Dick._

Harry stopped and sat back on his haunches, tilting his head slightly to the side and staring in confusion. Something was off, though he couldn't precisely pinpoint what right away. It took him a moment more of staring at the copy of _Paradise Lost_ before he realized what it was.

There was something jammed into the book, tucked between the front cover and the list of chapters.

It was only with a bit of effort that he managed to pull the book from its place on the shelf and flipping it open. Scrawled onto the inner cover in black ballpoint pen, the lettering flowing and almost feminine, was a note:

 **To my dearly beloved, in the hopes that he'll learn to appreciate poetry as much as he does his precious prose.**

 **4/21/11**

Tapped underneath it was a silver key.

Harry's heart leapt for just a moment before he realized with a powerful pang of disappointment that the key was much too small to belong to the door of the room which Tom had locked him in. So what did it go to? Something in the room, surely. The desk, perhaps? It was worth a try, if only to relieve the boredom of the hours he would likely spend there. Harry carefully peeled off the tape and excavated the little key from the sticky glue. Setting _Paradise Lost_ on the top shelf, positioned conveniently to block his view of the final and most disturbing picture, Harry moved towards the desk and seated himself in the chair where Harry had been earlier that morning. Beginning to examine the outside of the drawers from the bottom up.

Nothing. Nothing. There! Set into the outside face of the top most drawer-small and shallow-was a little silver key hole.

Harry didn't waste a moment in slotting the key into the hole and turning it. With a click the lock released and the raven pulled it open. Inside of the drawer was a small book with worn black leather covers, the corners tipped in gold and the pages a great deal more ragged edged and uneven than in any novel or text.

A diary. Harry Riddle's diary. Gingerly, almost as if afraid the well-used book would suddenly open up and bite his hand, he lifted it from the drawers and set it down on top of the desk but before he could open it the sound of a key turning in the lock on the door made him jump and whirled around. Tom entered the room with another tray in his hands; this one laden with two plates of food and two cans of soda.

"Writing in your diary again, love?" He asked him, smiling and closing the door with a twitch of his foot and striding over to him. "I'm glad to see that you're getting back into the habit. I know that you've always enjoyed confiding in that little book." He settled the tray on the top of the desk and lifted one of the plates and cans of soda and setting them in front of Harry. "Hope you're hungry, gorgeous."

His stomach growled at the sight of food even at the same moment that it flipped over at having the man so close to him; his chest pressed briefly against Harry's back, the warmth of his body reaching him through his clothing as he set the plate and can down. The mouthwatering smell of cheese and marinara sauce mingled with the dark cologne and sharp soap Tom used as the older man gently squeezed his shoulder before stepping back and perching himself on the edge of the bed.

"How was your day?" the dark brunet asked him mildly, cracking open his drink and carefully setting it on the carpet beside his foot and settling his plate on his lap.

"My day?" The brief impulse to bury the knife he'd been given in his captor's throat flashed through him but Harry pushed it aside. "…Fine."

He didn't want to risk that he'd lock the window, too, so he couldn't exactly tell him the truth about what he'd been doing.

"I'm glad to hear that." Tom said, watching happily as the raven ravenously shoved pasta and bits of chicken into his mouth while cutting up his own. "Things at the firm were as usual. Stressful."

Tom's dark hair was rumpled as if he'd been running his fingers through it in frustration; the collar of his starched button up was crinkled up, revealing a strip of collarbone and the tie around his neck was partially undone. The man really was handsome. It was a real shame that he was completely crackers.

"Firm?" Harry repeated, taking a drink. "Like…law firm?"

"I'm partner at a Criminal Defense Firm, remember?" the man raised his fork to his face and daintily plucked another mouthful of food from the metal tines. "Draco is, as usual, a bit of a nightmare. His father's a fantastic Corporate Lawyer but he wanted something more 'exciting': he's supposed to be my assistant but he spends more time on break messing with his hair than actually doing anything productive."

He'd been kidnaped by a Criminal Defense Attorney? The irony of it was near enough to make him laugh. At least it explained the manor and the Jaguar that he was driving.

"What state are we in?"

"What state do you think we are in, Harry?"

"…Colorado?"

Tom's eyebrows briefly knit together. "No, dear. We're in Missouri, a few miles South of . At our home: the manor that my father left me."

"We have no neighbors!" Harry blurted out. To his surprise, the other man laughed.

"Don't pout, love. It's more peaceful that way." He said. "I know that it can be rather lonely for you but that won't last for much longer. You'll be able to go back to work soon. Have all of your friends over and entertain like you used to. And you can have this room back as the office that it used to be back before you go sick; up for hours whenever you'd bring your editing work home." Tom drained his can and finished off the remainder of his food. "Speaking of taking one's work home, I have unfortunately been forced to do just that and must give my attention to our current case tonight. I have, however, bought you a television so that you won't become bored with only your books for company. I'll start working on hooking that up for you now; let me know when you're finished with your plate and I'll take it down and do the dishes."

With his own plate and empty can in tow the dark brunet left the room, no doubt to retrieve the TV that he'd bought, and closed the door behind him again. Harry glared after him with narrowed eyes and a gaze heated enough to potentially peel paint, struggling to prevent himself from fantasizing about gouging the other man's eyes out with his fork.


	3. Harry Potter:Harry Riddle

Tom had left again. Tom had locked him in his room again. Sure, by this point-how long had it been now? Days? Weeks? Months since he'd been taken? It was probably a bad sign that he'd already lost all sense of time-Harry expected to be locked up, after all the man had shown himself to be only selectively delusional, but the least the bastard could do was give him more room to roam. Of course, he supposed, that would have made it too easy for him to escape: it was simple, after all, to unlock a door from the inside. Annoyed, Harry turned onto his side as he lounged in the bed, the remote belonging to his new TV digging into his ribs.

He excavated it from beneath him and, with nothing better to do since he didn't have the patience at current to read nor the energy to resume circling and screaming like a lunatic himself, the raven flipped it on and began surfing channels. Looking for nothing in particular at first. Switching from pointless infomercials to documentaries on designer Canadian drugs to random cartoons. Then the thought occurred to him to look into the news: sure, he was now a state or so over from his home but maybe there was coverage of his case being broadcast somewhere.

Harry hoped that there was. He was nineteen, sure, and no longer a child but at this point he wanted nothing more than to hear his parents' voices. He'd flicked through a handful of news channels before finally finding the right one.

He'd stumbled on what looked like a press conference of some form, his father and mother standing at a podium with his godfather beside them and a number of uniformed police behind them. His mother was crying and his father held her, looking very drawn and grim himself.

"-Anyone who might have seen him we beg you, please tell someone! Our son isn't just another teenaged run away! He would never have left home without telling us! If someone took him for whatever reason please, don't hurt him: he's never lifted a hand against anyone and doesn't deserve to suffer and if money is what you want we'll pay! Anything! Anything, just please let him come home!" No longer able to speak through her tears his mother buried her face in his father's chest.

"Harry," his father's voice, too, sounded as if he were holding back tears, "please, if you have left on your own for some reason we aren't mad at you. Get into contact with us as soon as you can. We just…need to know that you're alright."

The image of the press conference faded out to a still shot photograph of him with text underneath explaining the details of his case including when he'd gone missing, where he'd last been seen and a tip line through which anyone with information on the case could get into contact with the proper authorities. As the news in front of him transitioned into some unimportant story about a blue-chip corporation Harry stared blankly at the screen, blinking rapidly in a futile effort to assuage the burning sensation in his eyes. Barely registering the tears which managed to escape and run down his cheeks, dripping onto the immaculate white fabric of the pillow he'd been clutching to his chest.

His parents. Harry had been so wrapped up in his own predicament that he hadn't for a moment spared a thought for how his disappearance might be affecting them. He was their only son! Their little boy-being nineteen didn't stop his mother from constantly referring to him that way-and he'd just suddenly vanished with no word or warning. He really hoped that they didn't actually think he'd ever do that of his own volition. That he'd ever put them through that sort of worry. Leave without telling them first. Without letting them know where he'd be going.

And what about Tom? Sure the man hadn't done anything to him yet aside from drug him and kidnap him off the streets and sure he'd provided him with objects which he could easily have used as weapons on multiple occasions so far but how long would that continue to be the case? And what about later on when the man's delusion dictated him properly 'recovered'? When he'd be expected to sleep beside. Sleep _with_ him.

Harry didn't want his first time to be with a kidnapping lunatic, no matter how devastatingly handsome. But what would happen if he refused? Would he force himself on him? Deprive him of food? Hurt him?

And what about when the delusion inevitably ended? When reality could no longer be kept at bay and came crashing down with its full weight onto Tom Riddle's broken mind? Would it turn him into a killer? Would he wind up in pieces in a ditch somewhere, or buried beneath a fresh slab of concrete underneath the basement's floor never to see the light of day again?

He didn't know much about criminals and the fragile psyche of the criminally insane but from where Harry was sitting at the moment it seemed like placating Tom would be the best course of action; hopefully he'd be able to keep reality from breaking down their doors for long enough to escape his clutches. And the best way to do that would be to learn as much as he possibly could about the role that he was expected to play. Luckily for him Harry Riddle had let him with the perfect instruction manual.

Flinging the pillow away as if it carried some deadly disease Harry launched himself across the room to where the leather bond diary still sat atop the desk. Settling himself once again in the chair and all but ripping the covers of the book apart, his eyes fell on the first page he opened to; just over 3/4ths of the way through the diary.

Blank.

Eyes flying wide with panic Harry began rapidly flipping backwards in a desperate search for text and his heart nearly leapt from his chest in relief when he came across writing only a handful of pages later. Inscribed in smooth lettering by a careful if evidentially shaking hand was the final entry which Harry Riddle had ever made dated just a year and two months before.

 _May 29, 2015_

 _This is the last time that I will ever see this house, sleep in this room and write in this diary. I have come to accept this fact, and with it the reality of my impending death. We tried everything, but by the time the doctors had caught on to what I had it was already too late for me. I had known it. The doctors had known it. But Tom still had hope that I would be able to beat it, that I would live, and so for his sake I endured the rounds of painful therapy which did nothing more than prolong my suffering._

 _Tom Riddle. I'll never understand what it was I did in my short life to deserve such a man. He's been a good husband and a patient caregiver who has sacrificed so much for my sake but even he has been forced to admit the fact that I am running out of time. Despite the added burden it has put on him he's kept me at home for as long as he could but the time where that was possible is over now. I'll be going to the hospital tomorrow morning where I will stay until I die, and I know that that will not be long. A month, perhaps, at most._

 _I see no point in taking my diary with me. I began writing in it just after Tom and I began dating, it was the first gift he ever gave me, and I don't think that filling it with the grim observations of a dying man in a white room would be a proper end. So I intend, instead, to close with a letter of sorts to my dear husband who I'll soon be forced to leave behind and leave it in my desk in that hopes that he will find and read it some day in the future after I am gone._

 _Tom,_

 _I love you, and I am truly sorry. You do not deserve any of the pain which I have already put you through nor the pain which I am sure my memory will continue to put you through for years to come. Please, understand that I want nothing more than for you to be happy: you deserve no less after all that I have put you through will my illness. I wish that you could have found that happiness with me, that we could have grown old together, but fate has seen to it that that can't be so I'm forced to ask one final favor of you: move on. Find someone who can heal the wounds that I have left you with. And know that I ask that, though I'll wait for you, do not wait for me._

 _Goodbye._

"Darling," Harry jumped as Tom-who he hadn't heard come in-walked up to him. "Did you lose track of time, Harry?"

The raven attempted to return the smile that the dark brunet always seemed to be directing towards him but only managed a rather rictus twitch.

"Tom," he tried to sound happy to see him and must have succeeded to at least some degree as the man gave a quiet hum in response, "you're back early."

"Early?" the taller male chuckled and held out a hand towards him. "Not early at all, my love. I'm back at the usual time: 6:30. See for yourself."

Glancing over his shoulder at the nightstand which stood beside the bed gave testament that the man was, in fact, correct. He had lost track of time.

"Well, come on. You're not just going to sit there all night are you?"

Harry blinked once at Tom's extended hand before taking it without thinking. His skin was soft and dry, his large hand strong and warm. The older man pulled him up from his chair and onto his feet with a single easy motion; Harry wobbled with a yelp at being suddenly pulled out of his seat and Tom steadied him, maintaining his grip on Harry's hand while holding his arm with his other hand as if to prop him upright. He began to walk him towards the door.

"Where are we going, Tom?" he asked shakily, throat constricting with fear and his heart beat picking up. No. No! He wasn't supposed to consider him recovered yet! Wasn't supposed to be taking him to the master bedroom already!

"I'm taking you to the bathroom, Harry." Tom's voice rumbled from behind him, entirely oblivious to his panic. "Forgive me for saying it, love, but I speak the truth by stating that you need a wash."

The bathroom. He was taking him to the bathroom, not the bedroom. The panicked spiral of his mind abruptly stopped, replaced by hope, though his heart beat didn't slow. Harry dug his heels into the hardwood floor, forcing Tom to stop.

"Love?"

"Clothes, Tom." It came out nearly breathless. He'd make the man go back into the bedroom to retrieve clean clothing from the closet and he'd take the chance to bolt out of the house and run. He was small, sure, but he was fast and was more than confident that he could reach the main road and flag down a passing car before Tom could catch him even if that meant running out into traffic. "I need a change of clothes."

"I'll bring you a set once you're in-."

" _No!"_ Quickly correcting his tone and wrapping his arms around himself, consequently pulling himself free of Tom's grip, Harry said "please, Tom, could you just get them for me now? I'd rather that you did."

The taller man looked bewildered by his request and took a small step back from him but the raven hardly paid this reaction any mind. His eyes were set on the staircase behind him.

"Alright, darling. If you insist, I'll get them for you now." He said. "Would you like to pick them?"

"I…? No, that's alright. I trust you to pick something for me."

Tom smiled at him. "As you wish." The moment that he'd ducked back into the room and Harry could be reasonably sure he wouldn't see him he darted for the stairs.

He couldn't comprehend how anyone could move as fast as Tom must have had to in order to catch him, especially while barely making a sound, but he'd only made it halfway down the stairs before the other man caught up.

"You shouldn't be trying to take the stairs on your own yet, darling! You'll fall and hurt yourself: your bones are still so fragile from all of the radiation." With surprising strength and despite his struggles Tom easily scooped him up into his arms and brought him back up to the second floor. "I know you must be hungry and I'll get started on dinner soon but we need to bathe you first."

Harry renewed his struggles with greater vigor as his captor stepped into the handsomely furnished bathroom, so much so that Tom nearly dropped him when he moved to set him down.

"I don't need you to bathe me! I'm perfectly capable of bathing myself!" He yowled while the taller man closed the door and set his clothing on the granite counter beside a folded towel.

"I know you can, Harry darling, but this is one of the little things that I get to do for you. You know how I like to spoil you whenever I'm able." Pausing briefly to pour lavender oil into the drawn bath before testing the temperature of the water, he headed back over to him and reached for his shirt. The raven pressed his back against the door, green eyes wide behind his glasses. "Darling, what's wrong?" Tom asked him, handsome features creased with concern. "You can't bathe with your clothes on, my love."

He shook his head wildly and shrank further back against the door.

"Harry," his tone now held a stern edge, "if you don't want me to undress you then that's fine but you need to take it off. I can't have you ruining your clothing by bathing in it."

He didn't want to take his eyes off of the madman for fear of what he might try and do but he also didn't want to make him angry while trapped with him in an enclosed space and so, after a moment's further hesitation, he quickly pulled his shirt off over his head. When he made no effort to remove his pants Tom raised an eyebrow.

"You're halfway there, but don't stop now."

Harry felt his face heat up. "I-I…could you maybe…turn around?"

"Harry, I've seen it all before-."

"Please, Tom! I don't feel comfortable with you watching me undress!"

The dark brunet sighed but did as he asked and turned his back on him. "Have it your way, sweet heart. Tell me once you're in the water."

Harry didn't give the other man the chance to reconsider, quickly stripping the rest of the way and sidling over to the tub. He slipped into the warm, sweet smelling water feeling extremely grateful for the thin veil of bubbles clinging to the surface of the deep granite tub.

"…Alright. I'm in."

Tom, who dutifully hadn't moved from his position, turned and pushed up his sleeves before striding over to him and kneeling beside the tub. Harry couldn't quite stop himself from staring at his muscular forearms as he reached across him to pull a bottle of expensive shampoo down, which he set on the tile floor beside him. When he hand came up again it was empty and came to rest against the back of his neck with a touch so gentle it were as if Tom feared he might break.

"Is the temperature alright?" he asked, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles into the juncture between his spine and the base of his skull.

"It's fine."

"Lay back. I've got you." Tom supported his head as he lay back, quickly wetting his black hair before pulling him back upright. The lid on the bottle of shampoo opened with a pop filling the warm slightly humid air with the smell of sandal wood. After pouring a liberal amount of it over his head he began industriously massaging it into his hair. The feeling was pleasant and intimate and all together _wrong_ and Harry hated himself for enjoying it for even a moment but he couldn't help himself. He'd never been pampered like this before. "Once more. There we go."

Once the suds had been cleared from his hair and he'd been allowed to sit up again Harry couldn't help but feel relieved. This feeling lasted for a grand total of five seconds before Tom beat him to the luffa.

 _Oh, please tell me he's not going to-!_

"Lean forward a little bit so I can get your back."

Dear lord, he was! The flush returning with vindictive vengeance he leaned forwards enough to allow the other man to reach his back with the soapy sponge, mind feverishly working to determine the best way to go about preventing Tom's hands from getting anywhere near where he definitely didn't want them. The other didn't seem to register his distress, thoroughly washing his back and chest with the same almost creepy smile still plastered to his face.

Tom had been in the process of washing one of his feet when Harry suddenly twitched away and curled his toes.

"Ah!" He sounded surprised and sent him an impish smirk before dragging his nails gently up along the arch of his foot, forcing the raven to jerk again and stifle a squeal. "Someone's ticklish: a new development. I'll have to keep that little fact in mind for later on."

Harry really didn't want to know what he meant by that and simply stared at him in open horror, well aware of the only places on his body the sponge had yet to reach and waiting with baited breath for his captor to order him to stand. Instead, to his surprise, Tom handed over the sponge without even needing to be asked and, after pressing another brief kiss to his brow, rose back to his feet.

"Finish up at your leisure, darling. I'm going to go get started on dinner for us." The door swung shut behind him with a quiet click. Harry slumped forwards into the scented water with a splash, sending a tidal wave of suds spilling down onto the bathroom floor.


	4. Botched

It had been just over a week, now, since the mad lunatic had dragged him off the streets. He had to get out. Had to escape. Had to send the cops-and the white coats for good measure-after Tom Riddle before he hunted him down or did the same thing to somebody else.

Escape. Escape. Escape.

Sure, he wasn't being neglected or anything-aside from being cooped up in Harry Riddle's bedroom all day like a prisoner and basic human interaction outside of his kidnapper's delusional overtures of love and expressions of affection-but God only knew how long it would take before the man snapped and he ended up taking a knife to the chest. Not to mention that the dark brunet's attentions were beginning to border on enjoyable: how lucky the other Harry had been to have someone so sweet and, quite frankly, cultishly devoted to him.

No! No, bad thoughts! _Bad thoughts!_ Tom's attentions were _not_ enjoyable! He did _not_ wish, even rarely and even once, that he really could have been that Harry. The Harry that the dark brunet thought he was. The Harry that he wanted.

His husband.

Have to leave! Have to leave! Have to leave _immediately_!

Desperation had driven him to it. Gormlessly, witlessly, kneeling before the door of his prison room furiously gouging at the lock with a pair of paperclips which he had bent out of shape. Hoping, with every fiber of his being and despite the fact that he didn't have the slightest clue how to pick locks, that his doing so would undo the lock and free him and not caring in the least that Tom was home. Home and downstairs; quite possibly standing directly outside the door watching him, listening to his feeble efforts to escape, waiting with a blade in his hand and the same horrible _smile_!

His fear faded and his heart soared when he heard the soft click of the latch giving way. Tears of relief and happiness pricked the corner of his eyes; he was half-free; could taste freedom; all that he had to do now was creep down the stairs and out the front door; he'd be on his way home by sundown.

So close. So close. So close.

Free. Free. Free.

These things repeated like a mantra in his head; a crazed, wired chant driving him forward in reaching for the door. Turning the knob. Pushing aside all fears of the potentially homicidal maniac that might be lurking just beyond: better to die fighting tooth and claw to escape than submit to the nutter's will and lose himself completely.

He heard it! _He heard it!_ The blissful sound of the knob turning uninhibited.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Filled with blissful relief Harry threw himself against the door. Ready to release himself from his prison at last. To let his legs take him down the stairs, out of the house and as far away as physically possible.

His chest met with hard unyielding wood, forcing the air from his lungs with a harsh _whoosh_ and flinging his body backwards onto the floor like a ragdoll. A marionette with cut strings. His first thought was that the dark brunet had chosen that exact moment to come into the room and the act of the door opening had caused him to rebound painfully. But no. When he looked up the raven realized that the door was still closed. The room still empty except for him. But he'd heard the click of the thwarted lock. Felt the knob turn fully and without resistance.

A slide lock. There was a bloody slide lock on the outside of the door; a reassurance for his paranoid captor and something he couldn't reach with a lock pick.

Harry screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his voice gave out and he kept trying to scream even after that. Tom, apparently deaf to the earlier broken shrieking, undid said slide lock perhaps ten minutes after and stepped into the room. Quirking up an eyebrow at the sight of the raven curled up on the floor, rocking back and forth and clutching the bent paperclips so tightly that his hands had begun to bleed.

"Sorry darling. I know I'm late but I have good reason: I wanted to do something special for you tonight." He informed him calmly. "Whatever are you doing sitting there on the floor?"

Harry stared at him blankly. Numb. How. _How was what he was doing not reaching this man? How could he possibly be that detached from reality and yet still manage to function in the outside world? In a court? As a lawyer?"_

"Not feeling well again? That's alright; you don't need to speak to me if it hurts too much to do so." Bending at the waist and grabbing a firm but gentle hold on Harry's forearm he pulled him to his feet. "We're going to change things up a bit, my love, and have dinner downstairs tonight. It's been a long time since we've shared a meal together at the table."

Harry wrapped his arms around the taller male's neck and rested his head on his shoulder to steady himself in his arms. Tom was warm and his heartbeat and even breathing was comforting. Beneath the faint smell of soap and cologne he picked up the scents of cinnamon and cloves.

Traitorous as it seemed to have become in recent days, his mind once more supplied to him a wish-sincere and visceral-that the situation was different. That the man carrying him and caring for him so religiously really was his husband. That he hadn't taken from his home. That he hadn't been taken from his home. That he hadn't made his parents cry, believing they'd somehow driven him away.

He's not. He's not. He's not.

But the insistence was numb. Dull. Lack luster and uncompelling.

Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Ri- _No!_

He writhed in the taller male's gentle grasp; Tom tightened his grip to keep him from falling.

"Now now, don't go getting restless my dear. We're almost there." The brunet reassured him as they passed through a large kitchen and into an attached sitting room. The walls were painted a satin burgundy color. The floors were paneled in dark brown wood. Tom set him carefully on the overstuffed cushions of a leather couch.

He left the room for a brief moment and returned with a chilled bottle of dark wine; he poured a glass and handed it to him.

"Stay here and relax, my darling, while I get dinner started for us. Tonight is a good night for steak, don't you agree?"

It didn't matter. Harry simply shrugged at him. Tom smiled and ran his agile fingers through his wild black hair, blunt nails dragging with a pleasurable pressure along his scalp, and then he sauntered from the room.

Harry just sat there, staring into his glass of wine. Watching the deeply colored liquid ripple gently within its crystal confines. He was nineteen. Nineteen, not twenty five. Nineteen, not legal. Harry Potter, not Harry Riddle. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

God, he needed to get out of there before the line between whom he was and who Tom thought he was blurred any further. Before he began to believe the brunet's insistences that they were in love. That they were married. That he'd been severely ill but was now recovering.

The wine bottle. The _glass_ wine bottle. This was it.

His only chance.

Seizing it by the neck and leaping to his feet Harry rushed back into the kitchen. Tom stood in front of the stove with some manner of unfamiliar cooking utensil in his hand. Humming softly to himself over the sizzling of spiced meat and vegetables, filling the room with delicious smells. Happy. Entirely oblivious to his captive's distress and presence.

One good strike would be all it would take with how solid the glass that made up the bottle in his hands was. One good strike to the back of his head and he'd be free, his kidnapper either incapacitated or dead.

Oh God, could he really go through with this when there was a chance that it could turn him into a killer? Could he really turn on Tom like this? The man who had sacrificed so much for him? Who he loved-.

 _No! No!_ Harry Potter. _Harry Potter!_

He had to do this. _He had to!_ Tom had brought this on himself.

Harry swung. The bottle made a low droning sound as it flew through the air. Wine the color of blood splattered across the white kitchen as the bottle made contact with a half-hollow clunk. With a horrible, pained yelp which made him feel distinctly ill with guilt Tom went down; body crumbling beneath the blow like a felled tree.

He was out the door in a heartbeat, not wasting a moment to check the wellbeing of the man he'd been forced to attack. Leaping off the brick stairs leading up to the front door and hitting the ground running, sending pale gravel flying in all directions as he crossed the drive and flew over the grass.

He'd never run so fast in his life, but he wasn't fast enough.

With a furious roar Tom leapt onto his back like a lion onto a gazelle, the weight of nearly six feet of solid bone and lean muscle crashing into him taking him to the ground. His body hit the earth with nearly enough force to break bone, the momentum of his thwarted flight sending him flying limply across the grass.

He'd hit him as hard as he could but it hadn't been hard enough. Tom, handsome face a mask of fury and dark eyes black with pain and rage, stood over him like an avenging angel. Pale skin flushed. Teeth sharp and bared. A vein visible, pulsing as it stood out against his temple.

On his hands and knees he tried to flee again but the other's food driving into his side took him down again. Ribs creaked. He wretched, the burn of stomach acid harsh and bitter in his throat as he rolled onto his back with a groan.

"Precious," blood and hellfire laced his smooth voice as he glared down at him. "Precious, my dear dear Precious Harry. What did you think you were doing?" the dark brunet circled him slowly, like a shark might circle a stranded swimmer. Eyes reduced to merciless hematite orbs. "Wasting all of that _expensive_ wine." He stopped without warning and Harry felt a frisson of fear shoot down his spine, green eyes widening. "Ruining our dinner." One of Tom's polished loafers rested lightly against his forearm, sadistic glee written all over his face. "And raising your hand against me after all I've done for you? You should be _ashamed_!" He screamed when the taller male pressed down on him with all his weight. The brunet instantly leapt back at the sound as if he'd been burned, the anger replaced with horror and concern so quickly that it gave him whiplash. "Oh my God, darling, I've told you not to leave the house without me while you're still so weak! You've fallen and hurt yourself just like I was afraid you would!"

As the man began to fuss over him, rapidly dissolving into a hair-tugging panic, Harry simply stared at him. Was he really _that_ cracked that he didn't remember that he himself was the one to attack him not even ten seconds before? Or did he have multiple personalities on top of everything else?

He whimpered in pain when Tom gathered him up into his arms, cooing and purring sweet nothings and gentle concerns as he swiftly spirited him back into the house and laid him on his beds. Vanishing briefly before returning with arms filed with medical supplies.

"Don't worry my love, I'll patch you right up and once that's done I'll salvage dinner." He told him, dumping the various items onto the bed beside him. "I'm afraid the stake is overcooked and the wine has been spilled; are sandwiches alright? Or should I run out quickly for takeout?"

"…" he stared at him for a while before murmuring "sandwiches are fine" once certain Tom wasn't going to explode again.

"Sandwiches it is then." The brunet pressed a glass of water into his hand and dropped a pair of pills into his palm. "Here love, these will help with the pain though they will make you a little sleepy."

With pain radiating throughout his entire body the raven was all too happy to swallow the pills. Tom smiled at him once again and set to tending his wounds.

Harry needed to get out of there.


	5. Red Roses and Wire Hangers

He ached all over from his head to his toes but at least nothing was broken. Small mercies. Harry groaned and rolled over, starting to full awareness when cold fingers brushed across his cheek.

"Good morning, my Darling. I brought you some flowers." Tom was already completely dressed to go to work in a button-down shirt and immaculate black slacks, his dark brown hair perfectly styled and still damp from a recent shower. Held in his hands was a vase of blood red roses. "How are you feeling?"

Harry stared somewhat blankly into the deep blue eyes only a few centimeters away from his own, looking for any signs of danger, but only found an earnest concern for him. He huffed.

"Sore." The raven said. _Because of you._

"I have more pain medication for you, Harry. But you need to eat a little something first." Tom pushed himself upright and onto his feet, setting the vase of flowers gently atop the bedside table. He picked up a small plate full of sliced apple and then settled himself on the edge of the bed beside him. "I know you must be hungry, but when you're as hurt as you are it's unwise for you to try to eat something heavy. You've always been fond of apples, near to the point of obsession: we don't have any caramel in the house though, unfortunately. I'll have to pick some up for you while I'm out."

He lifted one of the slices of apple from the plate and presented it to him, pressing it gently against his lips, painting the soft red flesh with sticky-sweet nectar.

Harry frowned.

"Come now, darling. You need to at least eat something before I give you the pills; you'll get a stomach ache otherwise."

Another insistent but still gentle prod. The raven, not wanting to push the brunet over the edge again, reluctantly allowed the fruit to pass his lips. Tom smiled and leaned forwards, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth; Harry jerked away as if he'd been burned but the other didn't seem to notice.

"Do you remember the day that we were married, my love?" Tom asked him in a deep purr, reclining against one arm as he offered another slice of apple with the other. "It was Mid-summer; the day was one that most around here would call 'hot and sweet'. We had it outside and invited only a few people: family mostly. The air was heavy and humid, effused with the scents of life and summer-flowers and backed earth and warm grass. You looked so beautiful in white."

He trailed off for a moment as Harry accepted the final apple slice.

"Our anniversary is at the end of this week." Tom told him. "We'll head up North. Back to our place. Our little secret paradise."

The brunet sat up again, picked up a pair of pills and the glass of water which had been sitting on the bedside table and passed them to him.

"Take these, love, and drink all of the water. You need your fluids."

Tom watched him like a hawk as he swallowed the pills and dutifully emptied the cup; he then took the empty cup and plate and stood up. "I have to go in to work now, darling, but I'll return over lunch break and bring you something to eat." Another unwanted kiss pressed to his forehead. "Be good."

The door clicked shut behind him and Harry was, once more, alone. He felt nothing short of relief at that and reached for the remote, turning to a channel at random simply for the sake of filling the room with white noise. Harry lay on the bed for a while more without moving, waiting until the pain medication had finally taken affect.

He then pushed himself up and removed the old diary from within the top drawer of the bedside table where he'd transplanted it not long after discovering the book. With hours of time left to fill before with prison warden returned to feed him again and not wanting to bother with trying to read anything else Harry pulled the leather covers open. Flipping carefully through page after page of precisely penned entries. Searching for any mentions of a 'paradise' or 'secret place' in an effort to determine where it was that Tom intended to drag him; an entry towards the middle caught his eye.

 _July 3_ _rd_ _, 2008_

 _It's been almost a week since I've last written; Tom has kept me busy. He's barely two years my senior at 20 but somehow he's more adult than most adults I know; nearly in law school, surely buried in school work-not to mention everything he does for the community-and yet still he managed to clear a week in his schedule and organize a romantic vacation for the two of us as our 8_ _th_ _date._

 _We haven't gone far, mind you, but the days we spent here so far have meant the world to me. His family has a little cabin up North near the Lake of the Ozarks; it's beautiful here; I think I may have found my most favorite place in the world. The lake is so clear and deep that the water looks black and it's gloriously cold; perfect for how hot it is. We took a canoe out to this little island in the middle of the lake that was covered in wild flowers and had a great willow growing in the center._

 _We carved our initials into the trunk and I feel like such a school girl!_

Harry ran the pads of his fingers over the years-old indentations in the thick paper. Despite his situation he found himself smiling slightly. A bit sadly. He quickly slammed the diary shut and pushed it away from him before the damned book could affect him any further.

The raven pushed himself up off of the bed and padded across the room to the closet, hoping to perhaps find something of interest within the confines of Harry Riddle's closet. He pulled the door open and looked inside, his green eyes roving over the numerous expensive and well cared for clothing. Clearly, Tom had provided only the best for the husband that he loved so much. All organized by fabric and color. All hung on wire hangers.

Harry's eyes widened. His body going stiff as his hands began to shake.

Wire hangers.

Acting quickly and before he could begin to think better of doing so Harry took down one of the few hangers which hung empty and swiftly undid the configuration of wire, bending it out of shape until he was left holding a long thin piece of metal with a hook at the end. This was it. _This_ was it.

His way out.

Shaking overcame him completely as he approached the door and reached up. Stretching his body up and out as far as he could. Sliding the wire out through the small space between the top of the door and the wall and draping it over the other side. Hearing it click and scrape, against the wood as he dragged and pulled on it. Time and again until he heard the one sound that he'd been waiting for. Praying for. The heavy scraping clank of the slide lock coming undone.

When the door of the room swung open before him Harry almost wept. When he stepped into the hallway of the empty house he could have sung. Tom was gone. Tom was _gone_ and he was free. He could run. He could run and get away. Far away and never return. Walk down the stairs as if he owned the place and leave.

But Harry wasn't stupid, and his experience the day prior had proved he needed not only opportunity but planning. He now had a means of escape in the form of the hanger but he'd have to wait for a time when Tom was gone for longer, or better yet had fallen asleep. He'd use this chance to gather supplies for his flight.

Water. Non-perishable food. A map. Money.

The kitchen for the food and water; organic granola bars from the larder which must have cost a fortune and plastic bottles full of mineral water. An old, well creased map of the area found in the study. A platinum card hidden in one of the drawers in one of the drawers in the handsome antique dresser standing in the master bedroom which he'd entered only after considerable hemming and hawing, half expecting the brunet to spring out of the wardrobe like a hellish jack-in-the-box.

With his prize stored in a rucksack and secreted away beneath his bed, Harry closed the door of the room behind him and curled up once more atop the bed. Tom had best cherish the remaining half-life that his delusion had, because by the time he realized Harry had flown the coop it'd be too late to drag him back.


	6. Ticking Clock

Harry had fallen asleep some point after the gathering of all of the necessary equipment for his coming flight was finished and had lain quite comfortably curled up on his side atop the expensive mattress but he was dragged back to partial wakefulness when a large warm body pressed gently against his and soft lips brushed the shell of his ear. Warm breath fanning across his skin.

"Darling," Harry burrowed deeper into the mounds of sheets and pillows to get away from Tom's baritone purr, "how did you unlock the door?"

The barest edge of danger to his otherwise smooth voice was what finally pulled him fully back to the real world. Forcing himself not to cringe away in fear, body twinging at the memory of the punishing blows which the other had delivered the last time he'd attempted to make an escape, Harry opened his eyes and raised his head slightly. Blinking sleepily at his captor while still keeping a safe distance between his face and Tom's.

"What are you talking about?" he grumbled, voice still heavily laced with his disturbed sleep. All too aware that his heart was pounding and praying that Tom couldn't feel it where their chests pressed together. "What do you mean how did I unlock the door?"

"I mean precisely what you think I mean." The older man hissed like a serpent, eyes slowly beginning to turn black again. "How. Did you. Unlock. The door?"

"I didn't unlock anything, Tom! Come to think of it, I didn't even know that you _had_ locked me in!" Better to play it safe and act as he expected Harry Riddle-hell, anyone-would have on learning that their significant other had locked them in their bedroom from the outside. A fact which they'd prior been oblivious to. "And what the bleeding hell are you doing locking me up anyway? I'm your husband, not Rapunzel!" Smacking him in the chest with as much force as his position would allow he rolled onto his side and curled up again. "You don't trust me."

It worked like magic. Tom's eyes widened, clearing from black to their usual blue, and then his expression became one of shame. His shoulders slumped slightly and he buried his face in his hair.

"You're right, dear. You're right." He said. "I'm sorry. I really am, Harry darling, and I know I shouldn't lock you up as if you were some pet-you're not-but please believe me when I say that it's for your own safety. You're not weak-don't ever think I consider you that-but the illness and treatment has left you fragile and every time I leave I'm terrified that I'll come back to find you hurt or worse. Please forgive me."

One of his arms wound around his chest, pulling Harry somewhat unwillingly back against him. "I must have forgotten to secure the door on my way out."

"And I didn't leave, did I?" he grumbled. "So you don't need to lock the door anymore, Tom."

"Nice try, darling, but like I said your behavior is not the reason that I keep it locked remember? It's for your safety, love." He pulled him even closer still, pressing his body tighter against his own larger one. Gently trailing his hot, velvet lips down along the back of his neck. Tracing the column of his spine. "It's for my own peace of mind. And for your safety. Because I love you."

His mouth was so dry that his tongue almost glued itself to the roof of it. "I love you too, Tom." The words tasted like saw dust and something twisted deep inside him.

The brunet looked at him as if he were the second coming and beamed; a toothy bright-white grin of pure and unadulterated happiness. Knowing that he was lying to him, the sight of the expression hurt.

Why was he feeling bad for saying what circumstances forced him to? For lying to his kidnapper. The man who had torn him away from his happy life and his parents and his friends in a selfish effort to assuage his own pain. The man who was entirely out of touch with reality because of the death of the man he'd loved who just so happened to look almost identical to him. The man who had treated him so well.

He attacked you! _Attacked you!_ Beat you up because you ran! You're bruised and bloodied and still in pain because you wandered off alone and fell and- ** _no!_** He attacked you!

While his mind was elsewhere, wrestling with his own slipping sense of self, Tom had rolled him onto his back again and resumed his position partially atop him. Supporting his weight on his forearms and fitting his mouth gently over his. The tip of his agile tongue dragging along the gentle swell on his lower lip in a polite request for entrance. A request which Harry very nearly allowed before remembering himself at the last possible moment. Grabbing Tom by both shoulders, he shoved with all the strength that he could muster. The larger male pulled back to look at him in confusion, head tilted slightly to one side like a puppy's might when it couldn't understand the desires of its master.

"What's wrong?" he asked him, looking somewhat disappointed though he hid it well.

"I-I…don't you have to go back to work, Tom? You're on lunch break: that won't last forever, right? We should…we should really eat something before you have to leave again."

"Lunch break?" Tom repeated with a low chuckle. "Harry, my dear sweet beloved, you _slept_ through lunch break. Work is over for the day."

Fuck.

He should have known that was the case: Tom had divested himself once more of his suit jacket and tie and had undone the top few buttons of his shirt. It was extremely difficult or him not to stare at the taller male's collarbone. The dark brunet gazed down at him with desire plain in his eyes, looking every bit like a jungle cat which had at last managed to pin down its long pursued prey.

"We don't need to worry about time limits and my having to run off back to work." His tone was husky as he bent his head and began kissing and sucking along his left jaw-line leaving a near petrified Harry to stare up at the ceiling. One of Tom's hands trailed slowly down along his side to come to rest gripping his hip, trailing fire in his wake. He knew that he was shaking. "It's been so long for both of us. And there are ways we can arrange it that you wouldn't have to lift a finger. You still remember, don't you? How good I can make you feel?"

Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! This was bad! This was _bad_! He wasn't ready. Had thought that he'd be able to get away before things came to _this_! But no. No! Tom wanted sex, despite being under the obvious impression that he was still too weak to be able to go about things properly.

At that moment his stomach let out a particularly loud growl of hunger and Tom pulled back, eyes wide in realization and face flushed pale pink with mild embarrassment.

"Forgive me, darling. It seems that I've gotten ahead of myself." The dark brunet pulled away from him-much to the raven's relief-and sat up. "Dinner should be finished in another five minutes. I'll bring it up for you." With that said, he sauntered from the room.

Knowing that he'd dodged a bullet, at least for a short time, Harry lay there in his bed waiting for his heart rate to calm. It had barely stopped racing by the time that his captor returned with their food; salmon and steamed vegetables with a bottle of Rosé and two glasses of water. Tom set the tray down carefully between them, poured them each a glass of wine along with their water and then, Harry noticed, made a point of setting the bottle down beside the bed well out of his reach.

"I know that you hate carrots, love, but please eat them. They're good for you and you need the nutrients." Thankfully, this time, Tom didn't forcibly wrestle away his fork in order to treat him like a one year old. "And I know you prefer Merlot but Rosé is better with fish."

Harry stared into his glass of wine for a brief while before cautiously taking a drink. The alcohol was sharp and dry, verging on the sweeter edge of vinegar, and in his opinion was all together unpleasant. Setting the glass down with every intention to never touch it again he picked up his fork and started to eat. The fish was perfectly cooked and painted with a honey-lemon glaze.

"Tom?" the dark brunet hummed in response around the piece of broccoli he'd slid into his mouth, looking over at him curiously. "I'm sorry, but…I don't think I'm ready for that yet. For us to…go back to having a physical relationship."

Tom looked at him for a few moments in silence, leaving Harry terrified, before setting down his fork with a small sigh and reaching up to self-consciously run a hand through his hair. "We'll go at your pace. I should have more patience; you're recovering, still, and I have no right to push you for anything. I'm sorry."

He'd apologized? That was a surprise. Certainly not something which Harry had expected.

"The next time that I start encroaching on what you're comfortable with please tell me and I'll stop. Promise me that, alright."

It was hardly difficult. "I will."

Tom smiled and went back to his food. The rest of their meal was had in silence and when they were finished he gathered the dishes, as usual, and exited the room with the obligatory exchange of 'good night's. Harry waited until the sound of the slide lock falling into place could be heard before he pulled the map out from its hiding place under the bed.

He'd spend the intervening hours figuring out exactly where the closest town was and planning out the quickest route by which he could return by bus to his home town in Colorado. The moment that he felt certain Tom had fallen asleep Harry was determined to escape.


	7. Flight

Harry was ready to move the very instant that the clock struck midnight, the rucksack bouncing against his back as he crossed to the room to the door and treaded the unwound hanger through the opening at the top of the door managing to undo the slide lock in record time. Steeling himself, he pushed it open and stepped out into the hallway beyond. Casting a longing look at the stairs before creeping stealthily towards the door of the master bedroom and cracking it open.

Tom's form was visible resting on his side curled beneath the covers. He looked like he was asleep but with his back turned to him Harry couldn't be sure. Getting any closer would definitely not be a good idea.

He just had to take the risk and hope that the man was out cold.

Harry carefully closed the door, taking care to ensure that it didn't make the dull clicking sound which would all but surely give him away. He placed his feet cautiously on the edges of the stairs to prevent them from creaking. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding as he reached out for the lock on the front door and turned it.

The click was almost deafening. He very nearly suffocated on his racing heart when it chose that moment to leap into his throat. Surely, at any moment now, Tom would come charging down the stairs to drag him back into his room-perhaps breaking his legs in the process just for good measure-and lock him back up.

No one came.

Nearly tearing up with relief Harry wasted no further time absconding from the house pausing only long enough to softly shut the door before bolting across the sprawling lawn. The sweet night wind brushed against his face as he ran. Feet pounding against the ground as the sound of the occasional car passing by on the road grew closer.

He nearly tripped and fell a number of times while wading through the small patch of woods which separated him from the street. Pavement under the soles of his shoes felt like a miracle. Harry's first instinct was to bolt, to run as fast as he possibly could but he knew better than to do so. All he would get himself by doing that was tired, and that would make it far too easy for Tom to happen upon him come morning.

He set off at a measured jog instead, pulling the hood of the hoodie that he had on up over his head. Summer heat or not, concealing his face was far more important than comfort for him at this current point in time.

 _. ._ He measured his breathing to match his running pace. Away. Away. Away. Away. He'd be back with his family soon. With his parents. His friends. Would be able to see his Godfather. Would be able to walk his dog, Padfoot, again.

Would miss Tom terribly.

 _No! Stop thinking of him!_ He thought viciously and sped his pace. _You're not allowed to ever think of him again until you're reporting him to the cops!_

Something told him that doing that would be much easier said than done. His rucksack bounced against his back with a gentle rhythmic clatter, the last minute addition to its contents feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

The sound of the car wheels on pavement drawing up behind him made his heart begin to race. Had his gamble failed? Was it Tom coming to drag him back into hell? Harry threw a surreptitious glance back over his shoulder and, realizing that it wasn't a black jaguar but rather a nondescript and somewhat rusted white truck.

He slowed his pace and stuck out his thumb.

When it pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road ahead of him Harry could have burst into tears right then and there. As he reached it one of the windows rolled down revealing a man with a stubbled beard and a baseball cap.

"Where you headed?"

"I'd like to go to the nearest town, but really anywhere is fine. I just…need to get away from here."

"You one of those teenaged runaways?"

"Not exactly. I'm not running away from home so much as back to it."

The man grunted and jerked his chin towards the passenger side door. "Well, get in then. I'll take you to wherever you need to go."

"Thank you. Really. You have…no idea how grateful I am." Harry quickly scrambled around to the other side of the truck and leapt into the car, dropping his rucksack onto the floor beside him. The man who had picked him up could have easily been a murderer or a rapist but, at this point, anything was better than Tom Riddle's particularly disturbing brand of crazy.

The door shut behind him with a loud bang. The truck pulled away back onto the road.

"Where exactly are you headed?" he asked.

Harry looked up. "Colorado."

"A bit far from here."

"Yeah." He pulled his knees up to his chest. "It is."

"You weren't planning to walk there? Or to hitchhike? Doing either of those would be a little bit dangerous for you to attempt."

"No. I plan to take the bus."

"Have friends that live around here whom you could stay with?"

Yes, he did, but for the life of him he couldn't remember-. No! Stop it! You are _not_ Harry Riddle! You don't know anyone around here except for Tom, and he's the one you're running from! "I'm just going to stay in a motel."

"Anywhere particular in mind?"

"Where-ever is cheap and close to the bus station."

Said place ended up being a rather sketchy no doubt roach infested motel on the outskirts of town, half of its sign broken out until it read H EL L. Splendid.

He hoped out of the truck after thanking the man and walked inside. As expected, the lobby was grim grimy and smelled strongly of mildew; if this was any indication for what the room would be like he'd have to crack a window just to make it livable.

It was immediately clear from the teller's reaction that the premises had never seen a platinum card before. A brief exchange and a couple of disbelieving stares got him the room key and Harry wasted no time in retreating into the shadowy bowels of what could easily have been a set straight off the filming of Alfred Hitchcock's _Psycho_.

Hopefully the modern rendition of the Bate's Motel would keep Tom from sniffing around in the event he ended up having to wait around for a bus back home.

As expected, the room was atrocious but-mercifully-the sheets of the bed seemed to be clean enough. The lights went out the moment that he flicked the switch. Harry sighed, crossed to the window and heaved it open before collapsing onto the bed.

With any luck, he'd be home the next night.


	8. Break

He couldn't remember it clearly. His house. Was it a ranch style or a sprawling English manor? Was it small but cozy with walls painted red and the floor covered in the bizarre gold carpet that his mother had found on clearance or was it large with blue-grey walls and white carpet filled with so many books that it could easily be mistaken for a small library.

If not Tom, who was he coming home to?

He should never have brought the damned diary with him, never mind red another twenty pages of the infernal thing before leaving the hotel room.

"Hello, Sir. Can I help you?"

Harry blinked, his green eyes focusing on the young woman who sat behind the desk as the sounds of talking, rolling wheels and shoes meeting the floor registering themselves on his mind. The Greyhound station. He was here to…why was he here again? "Er, I…I'd like to buy a bus ticket." He said lamely.

"Where to?" she chirped, unbothered by what was no doubt yet another of the many displays of vapid civilian idiocy seen on a daily basis.

That…was a good question. This wasn't far from the house that he shared with his husband. Couldn't he just…walk back? Poor Tom was probably ragged with worry by now. "Colorado, please." His mouth formed the words robotically. "I'm heading home."

Home was only a handful of miles back down the road. He didn't need a bus ticket to… _Jesus, get a hold of yourself!_

The woman was talking again. Harry forced himself to listen. "I'm afraid that the last bus heading there today already left an hour ago, and the next one headed out that way which isn't fully booked won't be leaving until two days from now at around seven in the morning."

He bit his lip. Staying in the town-Little Hangleton, if he remembered correctly-wasn't something that he planned on doing. For obvious reasons. The longer that he stayed the greater the chance of the mad attorney finding him became.

"Thanks." Harry said without much enthusiasm. "Can I get a ticket for the next one now, just so that it doesn't sell out too. It's rather urgent that I get…home."

"Of course. That'll be just a minute." She bounced off. Harry spent the intervening time looking nervously around at the ebb and flow of the crowd. Half ducking beneath the counter every time a man even vaguely resembling Tom passed by.

Tom never showed. Thank God. Tom wasn't there. Why wasn't he looking for him? Didn't he care that he was gone? Maybe wounded? Maybe scared?

 _You don't want him looking for you! You should be celebrating not panicking!_

"Here you are, Sir. The bus should arrive at the station at about 7:30 on the morning of the listed date."

"Thank you." He took the ticket and left the bus station.

It was already six in the evening. He was tired and hungry and more than a little bit jumpy. Every loud noise had him looking around. Every sudden motion had him leaping almost a foot in the air.

He still had two days to go before he could truly be sure of his escape. It would be best, thereby, to hide indoors until then in order to ensure that the chance of the other man stumbling on him was as low as possible but first he needed food.

Harry ended himself at a booth in local almost rundown diner and he stayed there for another three hours eating pancakes and drinking coffee. He paid with the card and left. By the time he started walking back towards the motel apply named-at least in his own mind-Hell it was passed nine and had gotten very dark. Had it not been for the flaring red tail lights he might have missed the black jaguar.

Harry instantly froze, nearly choking on his heart as it leapt into his throat. He wanted to bolt, to hide, but his knees locked up. His throat was too dry to scream. The driver's side door opened and a figure stepped out.

A woman.

He could have probably dropped dead right there from relief and immediately ran back to his room, not even bothering with the light which he knew wouldn't work anyway, and locked the door behind him.

He was safe. It was a woman. He was safe. Tom had no idea. Where he was. He was safe. As long as he kept to himself he'd be fine. Just a little longer and he'd be home. His forehead hit the door with a dull thud as he focused on breathing, waiting for his heartbeat to slow.

"Harry."

It was back to racing. He leapt so far he almost hit the ceiling and whirled around, coming almost face to face with Tom. He'd found him. How had he found him? How had he tracked him down to this hotel? This room?

Was he going to attack him again? Beat him again? Did he have a weapon on him? A gun? A knife? Was this the moment that his life would end?

He'd sealed off his own sole route of escape. There'd be no way for him to fight back. So he did the only thing that he could.

He started screaming. Screaming at the top of his lungs. Screaming at Tom. About Tom. About who he really was. What he really thought of him. What he was doing. What he planned to do and why. He burst into panicked tears at some point during his rant, and ended it enveloped in Tom's arms.

Strong arms. Warm arms. The smell of his soap and cologne overwhelmed him. Drowning him. Forcing away even the persistent funk of the dingy motel room. His head swam and his throat clamed up and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Hiccupping and sniffling, he buried his face in Tom's chest.

Somehow they'd ended up on the bed; he was curled up in the older man's lap, pressing his head into his now tears and snot soaked shirt as Tom rubbed his back in soothing circles. His chest vibrating with what Harry soon managed to work out was a soothing lullaby.

"Baby, Harry darling, hush. It's alright. I'm not mad at you, my love. You're just…you're still sick." He sounded pained, his tone genuinely distressed. "The illness…the treatment…the medication…it's made you so confused."

"Confused?"

"Yes, darling." His hands were running through his hair now. Stroking. Petting gently in a way which truly did feel marvelous. "You've bee…hallucinating. That's the real reason that I…that I locked you in your room I didn't want to tell you because you've already suffered so much. I'd hope that…it might save you some distress."

"Hallucinating?"

He heard the sigh whoosh free of him where his ear pressed against the other's chest. "Yes."

"The…kidnapping. You drugged me."

"I'd brought you back from the hospital that day."

"The beating?"

"Beating? Mercy, my love, you fell! I'd never raise a hand against you. Ever! On my life!"

"The news report?" he sniffled. "On channel twenty one."

"Darling, there is no channel 21. All that you would get if you tried was static."

His eyes were watering again and he was shaking like a leaf caught in a violent storm. Quivering from head to toe. Mind trying to process what he was being told. What it meant. Trying. Trying. Grinding to a halt, finally, when it realized that it couldn't. "What about Harry Potter?"

"Potter was your surname before we were married."

He felt like he'd been girded with a melon baller. But he also felt relieved. Hallucinations. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Tom wasn't the crazy one, he was.

It felt so incredibly liberating to finally be free of the constant turmoil. Harry sagged against his husband's body, his eyes falling closed with a gentle sigh. "Take me home, Tom. Please. Take me home and to bed; I'm tired."

"As you wish, my darling." Placing a tender kiss against his brow, Tom gathered his thin body up into his arms and carried him carefully out of the room.


	9. Grey

When Harry woke up he was lying curled up in a soft bed with a satin throw pulled up to his chin and warm strong arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Tom's breath wafted against the back of his neck in warm puffs. Birds chirped merrily outside and pale morning sunlight filtered in through the window of their bedroom. All was right with the world. He hadn't felt this good in a very long time.

Harry stretched, his joints letting out satisfying pops as he did so, and rolled over in the dark brunet's loose hold to look at his husband. Tom was still asleep, his hair a wild mess which rivaled his own and his face lax and open. Eyelids fluttering lightly as he dreamed. He smiled and reached up to trace the pads of his fingers along the curve of his cheeks and bridge of his nose. Marveling at the man beside him.

He felt at ease for the first time in…he wasn't sure how long. Secure in the fact that his life had resolidified. That all of the doubt was gone, despite the niggling traitorous voice which kept trying to tell him he was wrong. That Tom was lying to him. But wasn't that how a delusion worked? It was his choice whether or not to listen to the voices in his head. Tom had never once lied to him before so why should he believe that that had changed now?

Shelving such thoughts for further examination at a later date he spared a brief glance at the clock before reaching up to shake his husband awake.

"Tom?" The man grumbled and shifted slightly but didn't wake. Harry tried again. "Tom, you need to wake up. It's time for you to go to work."

His eyes slid open a moment later and he offered the raven a half-asleep smile before sitting up. "Alright, love. If you insist."

"If I insist? I'm not the one who drew up your schedule; you can't be late."

"As if anyone would dare make mention of it even if I were." But he rose from the bed and padded towards the bathroom, pausing only long enough to grab the clothing he'd set out for himself the night before. "Mondays really are the devil."

Still being considered ill had a few merits; Harry fell back against the bed and rolled onto his front, burying his face in the pillow that his husband had used. It smelled like Tom.

He listened to the shower run, drifting in a warm numbness until the water cut off. He sat up again and waited for him to emerge; when he did his hair was damp, but tamed, and his button up shirt hung open over his toned chest. Harry stared, feeling himself color.

Tom chuckled, grinning, and sauntered over. "Like what you see?"

"I did marry you."

He bent, taking his chin in one of his large calloused hands, and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft and he tasted like the toothpaste he'd just used. It was brief, but Harry still felt like his head was spinning when he pulled back. "I'll be back this evening, promptly at six. We'll have dinner together and discuss our coming trip. You'll be alright on your own?"

"Yes." He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close; Tom relaxed into his hold. "I'll probably watch some TV and then cook. You're a better chef than I am, but we do have cookbooks don't we?"

"We have at least one on of every book imaginable. After all, you live here." He said. "You'll behave."

"Just go to work, Tom."

The brunet smirked again, did up his shirt, and walked out. Harry once again curled up under the duvet with a huff. Lawyers!

He got out of bed himself when it was much closer to noon and took a shower before heading down the stairs. He flipped through over half of the hundreds of channels that they had, watching a handful of crime documentaries and rom-coms, and at around five dug up the aforementioned cookbook and threw together the first thing he found that they had the ingredients for; some type of pasta with white sauce and shrimp.

It would have turned out a million times better had Tom been the one to make it, but at least he could be certain that eating it wouldn't cause food poisoning…mostly certain.

Tom returned home maybe five minutes after he'd finished and-jacket shed and tie undone-walked into the room. "Smells good."

"Hopefully it tastes that way too." He said. "There's lemon in the fridge. Could you get it for me? Also, any advice on what wine to pair with this?"

"It's likely best we skip the wine, love. We'll be having quite a lot over the weekend after all, it will be our anniversary." The door of the stainless steel refrigerator swung shut with a snap. Lemon in hand, Tom took his seat across from Harry at the table. "How was your day, my darling?"

"Uneventful. Was Draco a prat again today?"

Tom paused with the fork halfway to his mouth and groused "we're heading out this weekend? To the cabin?"

"You remember?"

"Of course I remember! How could I forget the bloody cabin!"

"I can never be sure what you lost to either the illness or its treatments." He answered calmly.

Harry lowered his eyes. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Tom reached under the table and gently gripped his hand. "I understand, Harry. There's no reason for you to be feeling guilty."

The pasta needed more salt. "I understand, Harry. There's no need to feel guilty."

"About six hours but as I'm sure you can recall the drive is worth it." He said with a smile. "We'll be leaving Thursday morning and staying through the following Tuesday."


	10. A Place For Them Alone

"Harry."

Tom's voice purred directly into his ear, his hot breath wafting across the back of his neck. Harry groaned and burrowed deeper into the covers of their bed.

"Come on, love. It's five AM. Time to get up."

"Bloody out of your mind." Without lifting his head the raven swatted clumsily at him, missing and grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. "Five AM. Out of your mind!"

His husband chuckled, running his fingers through his black hair and grinned widely when Harry started to make a sound similar to a cat's purr.

"Have you forgotten what day it is?"

"Remind me at nine."

"Doll, if I remind you at nine we would have to leave at nine and then we wouldn't have the proper time left to do anything once we do get up to our cabin."

It was a lucky thing that Tom had the reflexes he did, because otherwise Harry's forehead would have knocked his teeth out as he bolted upright and, fumbling for his glasses, tumbled out of the bed with a thump.

"We're going to the cabin? The road trip! That's today?" he shoved his glasses artlessly onto his face and focused on the hand which Tom had reached down to help him back up.

"Yes, my love. The road trip is today and we're going to the cabin." The brunet drew his much smaller form in close and bent to kiss him, chasing the last bits of drowsiness away and not caring that he hadn't had the chance to brush his teeth yet. "Now, you are packed aren't you?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. I'll go and load up the car while you take a shower and get ready; we should be able to hit the road by six."

"How long will the drive take again?" he asked. "I can't remember."

"Well, the most direct route takes about three hours to get out to the area, and then another thirty to actually reach the cabin. Of course we'll be taking a route that is a bit more scenic and should reach the cabin at around noon with all of the stops included." Tom kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose, before stepping back again. "Go on love."

"You don't want to come with me, Tom?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, or at least as suggestively as he could manage. "Though it seems as if you've already had one. It shouldn't be too hard to get you dirty again."

"We won't have the time to do what I'm hoping to at the cabin if we spend time together in that way now." He cupped his cheek, gently rubbing his thumb along the curve of his jaw. "With how long it's been I can barely restrain myself, but I think it will be better to wait until tomorrow. On our anniversary. Perhaps I'm just being a hopeless romantic but…"

"No. You're right. It's better to wait. It'll be…more special that way." Turning his head before Tom could react to pull away he pressed a kiss to his palm before bounding away into the bathroom.

The mirror was still steamed up from the shower that the brunet had taken before him. Harry quickly stepped out of the night clothes that he'd been wearing and jumped in, turning on the hot water and grabbing the bottle of shampoo that he normally used before putting it down a moment later and picking up Tom's instead with a small smile.

He dried himself quickly with the towel that hung on the rung, brushed his teeth, threw on clothes and ran outside after only just barely bother to take a brush to his hair.

As Tom lifted a bag of unrecognizable outdoor equipment into the hatchback of the blue SUV Harry hadn't realized had even been in the garage the skin tight T-shirt that he wore over a fitted pair of blue jeans rucked up a bit and revealed a flash of his wash board stomach. His air dried hair shown a glossy brown in the soft grey light of early morning, the gentle curls and waves of it lying perfectly in place without any effort put into it all at. Meanwhile his stuck up in every direction, giving him the appearance of a poodle that had stuck its tail into a light socket.

Feeling his eyes on him Tom turned and drew him close again. Smiling widely when he breathed in the smell of his still damp hair.

"You used my shampoo."

His face turned red. "I like the way you smell."

"No need to be embarrassed, doll." He was lifted without warning, letting out a surprised squeak and wrapping his arms around his neck to keep himself from falling. "But we should really get into the car." Holding him up with one arm he reached up with the other and pulled the hatchback closed. "We do have a long drive ahead of us after all."

Tom settled the raven into the passenger seat before walking around to the driver's side and sliding the keys into the ignition. The SUV growled to life, shuddering beneath them as Harry reached around to pull his seat belt down into place.

Tom's hand massaged his knee as he drove them down the long drive towards the busy street.

"You can go back to sleep if you'd like, my precious. I'll wake you up when we stop somewhere."

Harry dropped his glasses into the cup holder and kicked off his shoes before curling up in his reclined seat. The trees outside rushed by in a blur of green and gold, a mix of speed and poor vision. Soft music played on the radio and the hand that wasn't on the wheel had moved to his back, kneading gently against his spine.

He fell asleep moments later.

They'd pulled into a gas station when Tom woke him, leaning over his curled form from the open door of the passenger side with a smile on his face.

"And he's returned to the world of the living." Gently, he replaced Harry's glasses on his face as the raven wrinkled his nose at him. "I need to go and pay for the gas; we've been on the road for about three hours already. Want to come out for a bit of a walk, a drink and the bathroom?"

They still had a long way to go so it was probably a good idea to do that. Take a walk. Use the bathroom, though God only knew at a place like this it was likely to be a literal shit show. Grab a drink and maybe a small snack.

"I'll wait for you inside in case you decide that you want something." With a brief peck to the lips he left him with the door open.

Stretching, enjoying the way his joints popped, Harry slid out and pushed the door close behind him with a loud bang before heading towards the gas station's bathroom. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be but that's wasn't saying all that much and even after washing his hands he felt filthy for having so much as dared to touch the door knob.

He nearly jumped a mile when he entered the main building and found his own face staring back at him from the newspaper stand. Bolting across the aisle-cluttered room, he pressed so tightly against Tom's side that he nearly knocked him over. The brunet's eyebrows drew together and he pulled him under his arm.

"What's wrong, love?"

"It's happening again, Tom!"

"It?"

He nodded, hiding his face in his chest. "The delusions. They're coming back." Harry whimpered. "I just…can we go please? Have you paid already?"

"For the gas, yes. But don't you want-?"

"No! I'll just…we'll be stopping somewhere else won't we?"

"Yes. There's a little diner about another hour or two up the road."

"I'll just wait until then."

Tom sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and nodded. "Whatever you wish. Come on."

In Harry's mind, they couldn't have left that gas station soon enough. He stayed wide awake and arched forward like a cat in his seat for the entire rest of the trip to the diner, ignoring the looks of concern that his husband would aim at him every five minutes or so.

"You're certain you're alright?" He slowed and pulled into a parking space.

Harry forced a smile. "Yes, Tom. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"If you want to go home-."

"No, love, I'll be fine."

He regarded him with unreadable dark eyes before finally nodding and turning off the car. "If you're certain, then let's head in. I don't know about you, Harry, but I'm starving."

The tension left him and his smile warmed over as the force behind it disappeared. "Me too."

Their late breakfast passed uneventfully in the cozy diner, filled with the smell of cooking omelets and fresh brewed coffee, and by the time that they left Harry had managed to fully push aside the woes of the morning. They left happy with a pair of takeout coffees in hand and resumed their drive, the scenery now consisting of deep woods, sharp cliffs and the massive black lake far below the road.

Eventually Tom turned off onto a dirt road that could barely call itself anything more than a deer trail, continuing down it for another half an hour and finally pulling to a stop outside of a beautiful wooden cabin with more than enough space for the two of them inside.

Cicadas whined in the forest around them and Harry swatted at a fly as he stepped out of the car.

"Darling," Harry caught the keys that Tom tossed at him. "Head inside. I'll bring everything in."

"Thanks." He headed up to the front door and, after struggling momentarily with the lock, managed to open it and step inside.

Everything was paned in cedar wood and the high ceiling was braced with what looked to be entire logs. The furniture was all rustic in appearance and cozily arranged around the stale hearth atop which a 48' flat screen had been mounted.

"Tom," the brunet's footsteps approached from behind a moment before he was dragged back against him, his mouth descending onto his neck and nibbling at the unmarked skin he found there. "This place is amazing."

"It's even more amazing outside." He purred. "Ready to head out onto the water?"


	11. Beneath The Willow Tree

"No. No! _No!_ Stop it, Tom, it's going to tip!" Harry clung to the sides of the wildly listing canoe for dear life while Tom all but lay on his back at the bottom, his tall frame shaking with mirth and the paddles clutched haphazardly in his hands. "Arsehole! You _want us_ to go into this water, don't you?"

"Maybe." Harry stuck his tongue out at him. "Why so frightened, love? It's only about twenty feet deep and infested with snakes."

" _Thomas Marvolo Riddle!"_

The brunet was laughing even harder now; the boat was drifting idly with the will of the black water and the raven was of half a mind to worry that his husband might soon turn blue. Though it would serve him right to choke to death on his own laughter after riling him up so much.

"Alright, fine. Fifteen feet, about, and no snakes." Harry relaxed. "There are alligators, though."

"Alli-! I'm not an idiot, idiot! I know that there are _no_ alligators in the Mid-West!"

"Crocodiles, then."

"Tom!" Harry went to give them a half playful half reprimanding swat but shifted his weight too quickly for the liking of the canoe that they were in. It dipped violently just as he was getting to his feet and he tumbled over the side with a yelp.

Even in the middle of summer the lake was so cold that it was like falling into a bucket of ice. Silt clogged the water, blurring his vision and making his surroundings appear to be tinted in shades of amber. A small school of fish stared warily at him from nearby. A frond of some type of slimy lake plant brushed against the bottom of his foot. When his head broke the surface it was to the sound of Tom howling with laughter.

 _"It's freezing_!" He squawked, floundering back towards the canoe while all but certain that he looked like a half drowned cat. "Help me get back to the canoe you ruddy bastard! This is your fault!"

"I do declare, my love, that you tipped yourself." Tom's head popped up over the side and grinned down at him. "How's the water?"

"Wet!"

"Well, isn't that a given?"

"Tom, please! This isn't funny!"

The brunet, though still smirking and chuckling, took mercy on his plight and reached down to help him back up into the canoe only to have Harry latch onto him with a smirk of his own and pull him over the side.

Tom resurfaced seconds later, shaking out his dripping hair like a dog would its coat and spitting on a mouthful of the lake. "One thing that never changes is the temperature. It's a good thing I left my phone in the car."

"You'd deserve having to replace it!"

"Oh, would I?" Harry sniffed at him and turned away. "Come now, love. Don't be like that."

"This isn't funny!"

"I disagree."

The raven whirled around. "I- _ack_!" Spluttering around the face full of water he received he glared at the other male.

"What? Aren't you going to get me back for splashing you darling?"

Green eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you challenging me to a splash fight, Tom?"

"If I said yes, _Harry_ ," he took care to emphasize his name, showing off his perfect teeth in a wide grin, "what would you do about it?"

"What would I do about it?" the raven pretended to ponder the question momentarily while training water. "Just this."

He flung a wall of water in Tom's direction before taking off as fast as he could. Tom dove under his attack and swam after him, nailing him with a trio of smaller splashes before he could properly escape his range. The two traded splashes and laughter all the way into shallow water before the brunet finally caught him, wrapping him in his arm and pulling him below the water.

Their lips met. Their teeth clicked. Their air escaped in rippling silver bubbles and all that they could taste were each other and the rocky tang of the lake. Hands wandering. Fabric and hair floating free in the gentle current.

Just as Harry felt for sure that his lungs would explode from lack of air Tom dragged him upwards and they surfaced again. Collapsing against the soft mud of a small island's bank just moments later and resuming their wild kissing.

Mud slathered the back of his clothing and smeared in his hair and onto his skin. Tom was warm on top of him, sucking and nipping gently on his wet and swollen-red lips. His soaked and dripping hair was a bedraggled, tangled, perfect mess as Harry threaded his fingers through it and cupped his nape to hold him close.

Through the constricting fabric of his jeans Tom's arousal poked him in the thigh, the added friction prompting the brunet to let out a rather vicious growl.

"I want you." He stifled a whine against his neck. "I want you, love. It's been so long. I want you now."

"Now?" Out in the open in the middle of the day under the endless blue sky of high summer? Beside the lake on a muddy bank? Tom's dark eyes were black with desire and he was breathing erratically as Harry ran his hands over the straining muscles of his upper arms. "We should wait." He wanted him too. Badly. But the thought of doing it there, like that, didn't seem quite right. "It's only one more night." He brought his hand up to his face and watched in fascination as Tom leaned his cheek into his palm. "We should wait."

There was well hidden frustration in his eyes as he pulled away. "It's up to you. I already promised that, didn't I? That it would be your pace." Tom rolled off of him and onto his back before beckoning him over with a crooked finger. "Come lay with me. There's something on this island that I want you to see but I'd rather not walk around with a hard on even if there's no one around to see it so I'll need to settle down first."

How cavalierly he was able to say that line lit Harry's face up a bright red color.

"Give me about ten minutes."

The raven settled briefly against his chest before he propped himself up on his elbows and said shyly "maybe…maybe I could help you…take care of it a little sooner?"

Tom's eyes were blackening again; he regarded him with an expression of wolfish curiosity.

"Oh? And how do you plan on doing that, doll?"

"I…well…" red up to his ears he gave up on trying to vocalize his intentions and simply reached for him. Undoing the button on his jeans before glancing back up at him as if seeking permission to continue. Tom was watching him with hunger and no hint of reprimand in his eyes.

Still unsure but bolstered by the evident lust in the brunet's eyes he continued as he'd been doing and pushed the waistband of his jeans down before lightly palming him through the damp fabric of his boxers and pushing them down as well.

The erection that he came face to face with was rather intimidating in that he didn't know quite what to do with it. The length was thick and marbled with blue veins and the head was a dark ruddy color, dewed with beads of a foreign pearly fluid. Harry hesitated, and then cautiously flicked his tongue out. Darting the tip out across his slit. The taste that he was met with was salty and musky, but not unpleasant, nor was the hiss that his actions drew out of Tom.

He peeked coyly at him through dark lashes, taking in his carnal expression, then bent and took him in his mouth. Wrapping his lips around his girth and beginning to bob his head in the manner that the hand now knotted in his hair directed him to. Pressed so close against him Tom's unique scent-dark and heady-was almost overwhelmingly strong. The brunet groaned low in his throat, his head tilting back and his jaw falling slack as he struggled with the urge to buck his hips forward.

Harry got a bit too ambitious and choked; Tom gently tugged him back.

"Careful, sweetheart. Don't hurt yourself." His voice was husky. "Go slow if you need to."

"I'm fine, Tom." He nuzzled against his hip before resuming his work. Tonguing the long vein threading the underside of the swollen length and hollowing his cheeks.

"Harry-!" The warning was delivered too late. Tom's fingers spasmed in his hair as he came undone. The raven tried to swallow but was overwhelmed by what he was given, the milky fluid escaping from the corners of his mouth and down along his now flaccid member.

He pulled Harry back up and kissed him, chasing the taste of himself in the raven's mouth. Harry laid a hand against his chest and pushed him back.

"Let's go and see whatever it was that you wanted to show me before you go and get yourself worked up again."

"You're right." He didn't seem particularly happy about that. "Though we should wash up a bit, first, while we're still beside the lake. We're both covered in mud and…well…"

The grin on his face was absurdly satisfied as he stood up and walked back out into the waist deep water. Pulling off his shirt and washing the mud out of his hair before scrubbing and ringing out the fabric and pulling it back on. Tucking himself away, he turned back to find Harry staring.

"Are you going to clean up as well, love?"

The raven jumped slightly and quickly went about washing up in the same way, his movements rushed and jerky. Tom's amusement was palpable.

"Ready?" Harry nodded. "Come along, then. It isn't far from here."

Tom's warm hand enclosing his chased the chill of the water away as he led him up onto the bank and onto the island itself. Mud gave way to thick grass and sweet smelling wild flowers. In the center of the island was a lone, towering willow tree which cast a rippling shadow across the ground.

Tom ducked under the swaying bows of the weeping tree and led him to the trunk by the hand, pointing towards the symbol carved into the trunk by either a pocket knife or a set of keys.

 **Tom + Harry '08**

 **Ne Perenni Cremer Igne**

"Do you remember that day, my love?"

The images were blurred and indistinct, as if they belonged to someone else, but he did remember it. It had been their eighth date. The surprise of being taken out to the cabin; of seeing it for the first time. The chill of the black water; how glorious it felt juxtaposed against the humid heat of summer. The island. The willow. Carving their initials and the Latin phrase into the trunk as testament to their love. Feeling so much like a school girl in one of those cliché romance novels in the aftermath of it all.

"Yes." He ran his hand over the smooth carving in the wood. Tom and Harry. Harry and Tom. Together forever. Undying. "I remember. That day. Those few days, when you first took me here." A hawk screamed off in the distance. He turned his green eyes to Tom. "You know that I love you. That I'm grateful for all that you've done for me. And that I'm sorry for all I've put you through. Don't you?"

"Harry." Tom propped his chin on top of his head. "You don't need to apologize to me for anything. Ever. And yes, I do know."

The raven rested his head against his chest, listening to the steady ticking of his heart. "I don't deserve you."

"You, my love, deserve nothing less than me. I am the best after all."

He couldn't keep a grin off his face in the wake of that comment.

"Now, I'll go and get the canoe we left floating in the middle of the lake. I need to head back to the nearest town to collect the necessary supplies for tomorrow's dinner and would prefer not to be on the road after dark if possible. There's a lot of deer out here and hitting one…not a pretty or a safe experience. I'll call you over once I've got it to shore."

"I'll be there right away." He promised. Tom smiled and moved away, leaving Harry alone and staring at the trunk of the softly swaying willow tree.


	12. Condolences

"You're done with your shower?" Tom's skin was still warm and damp and his hair dripped with clean water instead of the water of the lake as he wrapped his arms around Harry's narrow shoulders. Dropping a chaste kiss on his forehead in answer. "Are you going to head out right away?"

"I have to, love. It's going to get dark before I get back if I don't." Though he seemed reluctant to release him. "I need to get everything today because I don't want to waste a moment of tomorrow away from you."

"Maybe I should come with you?" Harry tilted his head back and happily received the second kiss which Tom placed on his lips. "Since you seem to want to keep me close at hand."

"That's not necessary. I think that you've had enough exertion for one day, doll. Remember, Harry, that you're still recovering from your struggle with that damned disease."

At the mere thought of the sickness that had nearly taken his life he could see Tom's hackles rise. The raven reached up to soothe him, stroking his face and crooning softly until the tense set of his muscles relaxed.

"I know, Tom. I know that I'm still technically unwell, even if I feel fine, and that I need to rest. If you really think that its better I stay behind then I'll stay behind. After all," he smiled, "I wouldn't want to miss our anniversary because of over exerting myself doing something trivial or foolish."

Tom pressed his lips to the inside of Harry's wrist for a brief moment before he finally let go and stepped away.

"I will do my best to collect everything we'll need quickly so that I can get back before sundown. Keep all of the doors locked and the windows closed while I'm gone, alright? I don't want anyone or anything able to get to you."

"I know."

"I'll leave you this." Tom pulled something from his waistband and set it on the coffee table; Harry's eyes widened when he realized what he was looking at. "Just in case you end up needing it."

"Tom, what did you bring a gun up here for? Where did you even get that thing?" Harry had picked his feet up and drawn his knees to his chest, eyeing the pistol as if it might suddenly sprout legs and fangs and attempt to crawl up his pants. "That thing _is_ legal isn't it?"

The brunet chuckled and ruffled his black hair. "Of course, love, and the safety is on as well. I brought it up here because, though they are uncommon, there _are_ black bears and other large predators around here. And coyotes though those aren't usually a problem. Basically just keep in mind that you shouldn't run towards anything that sounds like a woman being murdered."

"Because there might be an axe wielding psychopath on the loose?"

"No. Because it's not a woman being murdered. It's a mountain lion marking its territory." Harry paled. "As for where I got it: the gun safe in my office room."

"How many do you have, Tom?"

"A few; I used to hunt back when my father was still alive, before you made me stop remember? I brought you back that black leopard pelt from Kenya and after you buried it in your parent's back yard you refused to speak to me for a month." Tom ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I still think you'd have done better as a Green Peace activist than an editor for National Geographic magazine."

Harry wrinkled his nose at him. "I don't like guns, Tom. Please don't leave that thing with me."

"I don't like feel comfortable leaving you without it, darling. Not so far away from other people without any cell reception to speak of."

The raven whined but relented. "Alright, if it really makes you feel better about leaving me alone here I'll let you leave it with me but _only_ if you promise to take it and put it away as soon as you get back. I _really_ don't like guns, Tom!"

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. I promise." He kissed him once more before collecting the keys from the counter and heading out the door.

Moments later Harry heard the car door bang shut and the wheels crunch away over the loose gravel that scattered the packed dirt drive. He set aside the copy of _Bridge to Terabithia_ that he'd been reading and, after throwing a dark challenging look at the pistol still sitting on the coffee table, got up and went to turn the lock on the front door. With that done, he looked up at the carved clock mounted on the wall.

Four hours left until dark. About the same amount of time until Tom returned. Best to take another shower himself to clean the persistent smell of the lake from his skin and then use the remaining time to properly explore the massive cabin where he'd be staying with his husband until the following Tuesday.

With a firm plan decided on the raven quickly set off up the really rather steep wooden staircase onto the second floor loft and made his way into the bathroom once more hazed from Tom's shower before him. Once more happy to use Tom's soap and shampoo. Pleased to smell like his husband again.

If he smelled like him-like wood smoke and sandal wood-he could close his eyes and imagine that he was with him even when he wasn't.

He turned off the water after it had turned cold and stepped out of the shower. Swathing himself happily in Tom's towel and padding into their bedroom to dig through his duffle bag and select clothing that was dry. Throwing what he'd worn during their romp in the lake into the washer, he returned to the master bedroom and began going through the closet and the drawers of the nightstands and the storage boxes tucked securely under the bed.

Harry caught sight of a smaller clear plastic box filled with what looked like cards and quickly reached out to grab it. Pulling it out and peeling off the lid before picking up the first card. A simple white background with a single line of text in the middle in a graceful font.

'With deepest sympathy and prayers that God will comfort you.'

Harry flipped it over and was met with a block of illegible scrawl. He set the card aside and picked up another. An image of a blooming white water flower and the brief poem 'Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.'

 _Odd._ Harry picked up a handful of the cards and quickly began flipping through them. All condolence cards. All for bereavement. _Maybe they were sent to him after the deaths of his parents?_

That thought was dispelled almost instantly when he turned to the next card.

'Deepest sympathies for the loss of your beloved husband.'

What? The loss of his husband? But Tom hadn't been married to anyone before him, he knew that he hadn't! So these cards…they had to be referring to him. But he wasn't dead! He knew that he wasn't dead! Was he hallucinating again? Was he hallucinating or was Tom…was Tom lying?

Why would Tom lie to him? He was…he was Harry Riddle. He was Harry Riddle. They'd be married for five years come tomorrow. He was Harry Riddle! Riddle! Potter!

No! Potter was…maiden name. His maiden…real name. No! Delusion! Harry Riddle! Riddle! Riddle! Riddle!

"Harry!" He nearly jumped a mile when Tom's concerned voice cut through his panic like a hot knife. His arms wrapping around his form, curled up into the fetal position on the floor and rocking slightly back and forth. It was dark outside the windows now. How long had he been sitting there? "Harry, baby, what's wrong? What happened?"

" _What are these?"_ He threw fistfuls of the cards at him. The heavy cardstock fluttered to the floor like snow. " _What the bloody hell are these and why do you still have them?"_

"What are they?" Tom seemed just as confused as he was, picking the nearest one up off the floor and squinting at it. "Oh, damn it! I forgot about these; meant to toss them ages ago." There was genuine contrition in his gaze as he looked back up at him. "No one else had the faith in your strength that I did. They all gave you up for dead at the hands of your illness. I'm so sorry that you found these, my love. I hadn't meant to cause you such distress."

Harry sniffled and pressed his face into Tom's chest.

"Help me pick these up; we'll light a fire in the hearth downstairs and dispose of these tonight. Ourselves."

Harry stared at him for a few moments before nodding and allowing the brunet to help him up. They collected the scattered cards and dropped them back into the box, then picked it up and carried it downstairs.

"Would you like something to eat first?" the raven shook his head, clutching the box to his chest. "Love, you haven't had anything since breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"Alright, doll. If you're certain that you don't want to eat anything I won't make you." He said. "How about coffee when we finish this?"

"Hot chocolate?"

Tom smiled at him, cupped his chin and nodded. "Hot chocolate. With marshmallows?"

"Yes, please."

"And a bit of brandy?" Harry wrinkled his nose at him again and Tom barked a warm laugh. "No brandy, then. I'll light the fire now and we can deal with these, then I'll go and make it for us."

Harry settled himself on the edge of the love seat and stared into the dark hearth as Tom returned with a lighter and bottle of gasoline in one hand and a small pile of firewood under one arm. The halved logs clattered hollowly together as he arranged them in the hearth, pouring the accelerant onto them and setting them aflame with the long nosed lighter. The fire started small but grew quickly and soon enough a large flame was crackling merrily inside the once dark space and the smell of wood smoke had begun to fill the cabin.

"Alright." Tom stood up and set the lighter down atop the table where the gun had been earlier. "The fire is ready, Harry. Why don't you come bring the box over?"

The raven rose from his stiff perch and hobbled over, handing Tom the box and flinching at the popping sound the lid made as it came free. He watched him lift out cards by the fistful and toss them into the fire. Over and over until the box was empty.

The flames jumped and snapped, spitting sparks up the chimney as the fire greedily devoured the cards. Pigment melting and the heavy paper turning into curls of black.

Tom left at some point to go into the kitchen and Harry heard him clattering around while still staring at the cards.

"Harry." The brunet handed him a mug of hot chocolate brimming with a thick layer of marshmallow fluff. "Are you alright?"

He nodded, accepting the drink with a quiet word of thanks.

"Come and sit with me, will you?" Harry nodded again and padded after him back towards the love seat. Curling up and pressing into Tom's side. Resting his head against his chest and closing his eyes as he stroked long fingers through his unruly hair. Sitting like that, pressed against his warmth and breathing in the mixed scents of chocolate and marshmallow and Tom, Harry was finally able to calm down. Beneath the touch of Tom's hand he was at last able to relax again.

Warm and secure, he finished his drink quickly before setting down the empty mug and dropping off into a contented sleep.


	13. Anniversary

By the time that Tom was finished setting up and cooking, the kitchen looked like a five star restaurant and the entire cabin smelled amazing. All of the lights on the lower floor had been dimmed down to their lowest setting, replaced with what had to be close to a hundred white wax candles and the sun had set outside, leaving silver moonlight to spill through the wall to wall windows. The kitchen table had been changed out for a much smaller, far more intimate one draped in a pristine white table cloth and sprinkled with the petals of the blood red roses which had been arranged in a vase in the center. Before both chairs were fluted crystal glasses filled with fine champagne.

Tom stood beside the table in a collared shirt and slacks, smiling at him with a mixture of unhidden adoration and desire in his eyes.

"Tom, this is incredible." He stepped into the brunet's arms. "I feel under dressed; I'm only in a t-shirt and jeans."

"It doesn't really matter what either of us has on, in the end, love. After all we're just going to end up taking it off by the time that this night is over." He nibbled gently on the shell of his ear and Harry shivered, of half a mind to suggest forgetting about the food if it hadn't been for the work he knew his husband had put into it.

"I suppose that's true." Tom's hands slid down his back and passed his hips, gently kneading the globes of his arse through the fabric of his jeans and smirking at the little gasp that he made. "What are we having? It smells incredible."

"Coq Au Chamberlin; only the best for you, my dearly beloved. And good French Champagne. Cherry trifles for dessert." Tom pulled out his chair for him. "Shall we dine?"

"Yes, please!"

He chuckled softly as Harry all but leapt into his chair, barely able to make himself wait for the brunet to do the same before he started eating.

"Breathe and chew, Harry. You'll choke to death otherwise."

"I'd die happy if I did." He cautiously sipped his glass of champagne, finding the alcohol much less pleasant than the food.

"What's wrong?"

He must have made a face without realizing it. "It's dry."

"It's champagne, doll." The angle of his wrist as he lightly swirled the golden liquid practically dripped elegance. If Harry were to be completely honest he was rather jealous of Tom's effortless grace. "You don't have to drink all of it if you don't want to. Would you like me to get you some water instead?"

"Yes, please, if it isn't too much trouble."

"You're never too much trouble. Never any trouble at all." Tom gently stroked the back of his knuckles along Harry's cheek before getting up and retrieving the water. "Here you are."

"Thank you."

"Would you like seconds or are you ready for dessert?"

"That's a hard question." He wasn't kidding. At all. Harry actually had to think that question over for almost a minute much to Tom's amusement. "Dessert?"

"Is that a question?"

"No?"

"Is _that_ a question?"

"Can we please just have dessert, Tom?"

"Of course, Harry."

The trifles looked amazing and tasted even better. Tom only nibbled at his own dessert, too engrossed in watching the raven enjoy his to really bother too much with it.

"Was it good?" Harry nodded around his last mouthful of desert. "Really?" Another nod. Tom acted before he could pull away, smearing some of the dark chocolate shavings and cherry liquor across his lips like lip gloss then leaning forward over the table to kiss him. Painstakingly licking it off before pulling back with a grin. "It's alright, but you taste much better."

"Do I?"

Tom hummed. "Hear that?"

"That?" he blinked in confusion.

"That song." He was on his feet, crossing to the ancient looking radio that Harry was quite frankly shocked still worked and turning up the volume. "Our song; don't you recognize it? O Children, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds?"

"I think that's one of the things I lost, Tom." Harry told him sadly as the brunet made his way back to him.

"Dance with me." He held out a hand to help him up. "Please, Harry."

The raven regarded his hand for a moment before he took it and let Tom draw him from his chair.

"I'm not the best dancer." He said, resting close against the other's chest. Tom's arms wrapping around him as he began to sway gently with the music. "So if I step on your feet or trip and fall…"

"Don't worry, love. There's no one to see us."

He hummed softly as they revolved at a slow and easy pace around the kitchen. When the song ended, the brunet didn't let him go; they stood together in the dark kitchen, flush against each other, as the candles guttered low.

Harry ran his hands up his chest and shyly undid the first button of his shirt. "Shall we…head upstairs?"

"Head upstairs?" the raven undid another button. Then another. Watching black bleed into Tom's dark irises. "Why should we head upstairs?"

"You know." The shirt fell open and he immediately began greedily mapping out the defined expanse of skin and muscle with the tips of his fingers.

"Do I?" Those large hands were back on his backside. "Remind me."

"I think that we should head upstairs and…and do it. What we talked about yesterday."

"Which was?" between the grin and the laughter he knew he was amused; despite his arousal, Tom seemed to be enjoying himself teasing Harry.

"I…we…damn it, Tom! You know!"

"I do know. But I also know that if you can't talk about it you shouldn't be doing it."

"Take me upstairs and fuck me, damn it!"

"You're sexy when you're frustrated, love. Did you know that?" he scooped him up off the floor and began climbing the stairs. "You're sexy all the time."

The large bed gave beneath him as the brunet carefully lay him down in the center and crawled atop him. Kissing him gently. Caging him in protectively with his much larger body.

Lightly calloused hands pushed up under the fabric of his t-shirt. Running up along his stomach and chest. Gently thumbing his nipples as they passed. "Sit up a bit so that I can get your shirt off." Harry eagerly obeyed, allowing Tom to pull his t-shirt over his head. "Beautiful. As always."

Bites and open mouthed kisses spattered his chest neck and stomach. His hands gripped the wings of his hips firmly but gently as his mouth attached to one nipple and then the other. Purring when Harry arched against him, drinking in his pants and moans before finally sliding his jeans down and leaving him fully exposed.

The raven felt a flush of color spread across his chest as Tom's gaze fell so intensely on his naked body that it were almost as if they were touching him. Running his hand up and down his side as he marveled at him in the dimness of the moonlit room.

"Are you ready, baby?"

Harry nodded, breathing hard and with his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Yes. I'm ready, Tom. Please don't make me wait any longer."

"I won't make either of us wait any longer." He leaned over and pulled the drawer of the nightstand open, freeing himself from his pants and tossing them carelessly onto the floor. Something popped and moments later cold fingers gently prodded his entrance. "Relax, love; you definitely want me to prepare you first with how long it's been. It's only lube."

"It's cold!"

"It'll warm up soon, don't worry." Tom pulled one of his legs up over his waist and pushed his first finger into him. Harry hissed.

"That feels really strange."

"I know. It'll start to feel good in just a little while." Another finger slowly worked its way inside, the odd intrusion turning into a slight pinch. "Once I find it."

The raven could feel his fingers moving inside him. Wiggling and crooking. Searching for something. And then.

"Ah!"

"There we are." Tom's teeth gleamed in the lowlight. "Does that feel good?" he lightly teased the bundle of nerves, drawing more surprised sounds from the little raven, then pressed his fingers tight against it.

"Tom, please!"

"Please? Please what?"

"Please more!"

"More what?" he increased the pressure. Watching him squirm. "More of this?"

"No! Not fingers! Please!"

"As you wish, my darling." He mewled when Tom removed his fingers but the sound quickly choked off into a groan as the brunet pushed against him. Slowly, painstakingly, slipping inside. His weight lying heavy atop his body, only barely held up so as not to accidentally crush him. Harry clutched at his back, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Tell me when to move."

His voice was strained. His control quite clearly about to fray. The burn of intrusion of something much bigger than the fingers which had worked him open had barely subsided but he didn't want to test Tom's patience.

"Move." He groaned when he rolled his hips, pushing himself in deeper and making the raven claw at his back. It hurt but, mercifully, Tom kept himself restrained to a slow pace until he once more located the bundle of nerves.

"You're so tight, love." He pulled him closer, arching his spine more severely and driving into him from a different angle. Growling as Harry clawed at his back until it bled. "So good. It really has been too long."

The raven whined loudly, unable to produce a more coherent response. Clutching his thighs around the brunet's shoulders. Head flung back against the pillows and eyes rolling in his head. The coil in his belly winding tighter and tighter before it finally snapped.

Wetness spread warm and sticky between their bodies as the raven went boneless. Keening helplessly as Tom chased his own release in his over sensitized body before finally going limp against him both breathing hard and with their racing hearts thudding together.

"Incredible." Tom rolled off him and pulled Harry up onto his chest, tugging the sheets over them both. Running his hands over his back. "Tired, my love?"

He nodded sluggishly.

"Go to sleep. I'll wake you early tomorrow so we can have another round or two before going out on the water again."

"No tipping the canoe this time." Harry grumbled into his collar bone.

Tom laughed and closed his eyes. "No tipping the canoe this time." He said. "I promise."


	14. Dragon's Eye

Smoke had filled the kitchen of their large home, the muffins that Harry had pulled from the oven looked more like charcoal than blue berry and he couldn't help but be grateful for the fact that the house wasn't equipped with smoke alarms or sprinklers.

Regardless the smell was enough to send Tom running into the room wild eyed and half dressed.

"Harry, what happened? Where's the fire?"

"No fire. I did make muffins though." When he held up the pan, parts of the muffins crumbling slightly with the motion. "I burned them a little bit. Sorry."

"You burned…oh, thank God!" Relief crossed his features momentarily before they scrunched up again and he began to laugh. "I love you doll, I do, but please promise me not to touch the stove or oven when I'm not in the house."

"I'm not a child, Tom, I just…dozed off and left them in too long."

"For my peace of mind, please."

Harry huffed and set the tin down. "Fine."

"Doll." He reached out to cup his cheek, turning him back to look at him. "It's the thought, not the outcome, that really counts. I'm glad that you took it upon yourself to try and make breakfast; you had to have woken up very early to do that and I know how much you hate doing that."

"Woke up early? Tom, I didn't sleep at all last night; I had too much to do today, like napping, to waste the time last night sleeping."

The brunet chuckled and kissed him lightly, pulling back much too quickly for the raven's liking and prompting him to mewl in disappointment.

"I have to head to work, love. As much as I'd love to stay here with you, we both know I can't." He said. "Pack me some muffins, would you?"

"You want these?"

"I'm sure that there is something in them that's edible; they can't be completely charcoal." He kissed him again and headed back up the stairs to finish getting dressed. Harry had wrestled a couple of the badly burned muffins out of their cups by means of a butter knife and packed them up into a sandwich bag for Tom to take with him to his law firm by the time he came back down with his hair perfectly groomed and his clothing in place.

"You're sure that you want these?" he asked as he handed the bag over. "I don't want to be responsible for making you sick! People can die from food poisoning!"

"I don't think that you can get food poisoning from burned food. A charcoal overdose, however-."

"I don't want you to get that either!"

The brunet laughed at him and took the muffins before pulling him in. "I'll be fine, my dear. And I'm sure that your cooking is not as bad as you seem to believe."

"You have way too much faith in me, Tom."

"We'll see." He stepped away. "Now I have to leave; I'll be late for work if I don't."

Harry nodded and reluctantly allowed his husband to exit the kitchen. Watching him head out the front door and towards the jaguar.

He already missed the lazy days that they'd spent up at the cabin, with nothing more pressing to do than life tangled up in bed together with nothing to separate their skin, basking in each other's company with no need to worry about deadlines or jobs.

Tom set the bag of muffins down in the passenger seat of the car and slid the keys into the ignition, pulling down the driveway and onto the street.

M and R Law firm was as busy as it ever was when in the midst of the morning commute. Little bag of muffins in one hand and his briefcase in the other, Tom straightened his tie and strode into the office with his head held high.

Draco was, surprisingly, already in by the time that he got there. Tom couldn't say that he knew precisely what had motivated the younger Malfoy to show himself before noon, though he suspected that it had something to do with Lucius, but he wasn't going to complain. He needed to be brought up to speed on what had happened while he was away.

"Report on the Coppa Case, Draco." He barked, authoritative but restrained. The perfect image of an in control boss who was to be respected. "Have things been finished or need I catch up on the matter to be able to attend court proceedings."

"Proceedings finished on Saturday, Sir."

"And?"

"We won."

"Who handled it?"

"I did."

Tom looked up curiously, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?" he unpeeled the first muffin and pulled the burned skin away until he located where charcoal transitioned into muffin. "Well done, Draco. It seems that you've learned something here after all."

"Thank you, Sir." He set the nail file that he'd been using down on his desk." Tom." When he didn't receive a reprimand for referring to him in friendly terms he continued. "Tom, I…it's good to have you back. I know that it was really hard for you for a while. After Harry…"

"Yes, it was difficult but we've gotten through it. Together. My husband and I just spent a marvelous extended anniversary weekend up in our cabin at the Lake of the Ozarks." He flipped open a binder full of documents and began looking through them. "He's doing well and I'm sure he'd be pleased to see you again."

"I…he…o-oh, I see. Well, that's…I'm glad to hear that."

Tom grumbled in response around a mouthful of muffin. "Indeed. Now as much as I'd love to talk about Harry all day we do have work to do, Draco. Put that nail file away."

"Yes, Sir."

Draco spent the rest of the day directing off looks in his employer's direction whenever he thought he wasn't looking. When the day was finally over he quickly vacated the premises and headed to the nearest florist to pick up some white lilies before driving out to Little Hangleton Cemetery.

The beautifully carved granite headstone gleamed in the light of late evening, the flowers that had last been left there shriveled to a near unrecognizable degree. Draco sighed and removed them, replacing the old flowers with the new ones.

"If it wasn't clear enough before, it is now." He said. "And we thought it was unhealthy when he was sleeping out here. Your husband has _completely_ lost his mind, Harry. I understand that denial is a stage of grief but…this seems a little bit excessive. Not that anything _isn't_ excessive regarding Thomas Marvolo Riddle."

The recent rains that had been blanketing the area had left to face of the weeping angel adorning the grave streaked with what almost looked like tear tracks.

"But you don't need to worry about him. He'll recover, eventually. Until then, well…we aren't you, we never will be, but we're there for him. And I like to think he knows that."


	15. The Dinner

"How was your day?"

"Normal." Tom sank into one of the armchairs in their sitting room with a groan, loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. Dragging his hands down his face in an effort to chase his exhaustion away. "Draco was acting odd today. Of course, with him, that sort of behavior could be for any number of reasons."

"Here, love." Harry passed him a mug of coffee which he gratefully accepted.

"Thank you, Harry. I needed this."

"I can imagine." The little raven circled around his chair and propped his head on his lap. Tom looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "You have been working an awful lot, Tom. An awful lot. I'm worried about your stress levels."

"I have been working a lot, but with the job that I have hours and high stress is to be expected." Tom stroked his fingers through his hair. "And there isn't all that much that I can do about the matter with the corporate dinner coming up."

"Yes, about that corporate diner," Harry dragged his fingers lightly along the inside of his thigh. "I was thinking…"

"You were thinking?" Curiosity and desire warred with each other for space on his face.

"I was thinking that, since it's been so long since anyone has seen me, since I've mostly recovered from my illness, since you've been working so much that maybe we could have the dinner here?"

"You want to have the dinner here, love?" he smirked as Harry gripped his knees to push himself up. Crawling into his lap and leaning in.

"Oh yes, I really want to baby."

"You want to have the dinner here?"

"Yes."

"You want to cook for all of us?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Really?"

The emerald green of his eyes was almost entirely devoured by the black of his blown pupils. "Yes, Tom. Please. Let me cook dinner for all of you. I really, _really_ want to."

"You really want to?" The raven arched his back with a kittenish mewl as Tom ran his hands over his arse. "Show me."

"Show you?"

"Yes, doll. Show me. Show me how badly you want this."

"Oh, I'll show you." Harry tugged him up out of the chair by his tie and pushed him down onto the couch. Mounting his hips as he pulled the bottle of lube from between the cushions.

"Someone came prepared for this." He purred as Harry leaned over him, hurriedly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Always come prepared if you really want to get something done." He ran his hands over his chest as he attached his mouth to the brunet's jaw. Pushing him deeper into the leather cushions of the couch. Nibbling on his neck as Tom slipped his hands up under his shirt. Teasing his nipples erect until Harry grabbed his wrists with a quiet growl.

Tom chuckled. "Someone is certainly controlling." He slipped his hands down out of his shirt and gripped his hips instead. "I get the feeling that I'm going to be bottoming today."

"Yes." He wriggled out of his pants and tossed them carelessly aside onto the coffee table. "And no."

"Oh?" Tom lifted his hips, making wrestling down his pants a bit easier on the raven. "And how does that work?"

"You'll see." Gripping the brunet's fully hard length in one hand, he began clumsily preparing himself with the other.

"I'll see?" his thumbs rubbed circles into the flesh of his hips. Gaze roving over the view above him. "I see a lot."

"You do?"

"I do."

"And do you like what you see?"

"I do indeed, my dear." Harry poured a bit more lube into his palm and warmed it in his hands before coating him with it. Grinning when the brunet moaned softly. "You gonna ride me?"

"Mmm. Yes, baby." Tom kept a guiding hand on his hip as he positioned the blunt head at his entrance. Beginning to lower himself back down. "Gonna show you how much I want it. How much I want to help you. How much-ah!"

"Careful, love. Go slow. Don't hurt yourself." The brunet had to restrain himself as the raven settled atop him. Panting softly as he adjusted to the intrusion. "You've shown me how much you want it. You've been so good, darling. You're still so good. If you're certain about having tomorrow's dinner here I'll let you." He released his hold on Harry's waist and took his hands instead. "I'll call to let them all know as soon as we're done here."

The raven pushed himself up against his hands and dropped down again. His breath catching lightly.

"Easy."

"I'm alright." He lifted and lowered himself once again, moaning a bit louder. "Help me, Tom. I thought your position was referred to as power bo- _oh_!"

"You only need to ask, my doll."

The pair quickly found a good rhythm of push and pull; Tom gripping his hands as Harry used them for leverage, back arched and eyes closed. Tom lifted himself upright in the middle of their fevered rutting. Stroking his straining length and attacking his chest and stomach with bites and kisses.

When it was all over the pair were left lying boneless on the couch, still connected despite the arousal having faded into golden afterglow; Harry was draped over his chest like a needy feline and Tom would have been happy to be able to fall asleep then and there on their couch.

"I need to call them." He said blearily, to which Harry just grunted noncommittally. "My phone is in my pants. Or, at least, it was."

Another groan.

"I need to get up, love. I need to call everyone and tell them about the change of location."

"Call them later." Harry curled in closer and tucked his face into his neck. "Don't want to move. Comfortable."

"I'll let you stay there a little while longer, love. But we can't stay here all night."

No matter how much both of them might have wanted to.

* * *

"Respectfully, Tom, when my son told me you'd resumed acting as you had been before the…tragedy I must say that I was rather dubious but seeing you now I'm surprised to be able to say he was correct. It's of great asset to our firm to finally have you back."

"I'm glad to _be_ back, Lucius. The whole affair took a lot out of both of us but now that Harry is out of the woods I hope that things will soon be properly back on track."

"Out of the woods?" the surprise in his father's voice wasn't well disguised but Tom didn't seem to catch it. Rodulphus and Rabastan exchanged glances. Bellatrix was far too engrossed in her own world to notice, which was fairly normal for her.

"Almost fully recovered; should be able to return to work soon though he is still prone to the occasional bout of delusion. Forgets things. Panicks." They mounted the steps of the porch. "I apologize for the rather sudden change of venue but he insisted on hosting it here. It's doubtlessly a bad habit of mine, but denying him anything…it simply isn't something I could ever bring myself to do."

"So…" Rabastan ventured cautiously. "Harry will be cooking dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I will be." All three of the older men jumped and Draco's eyes widened. Standing in the open doorway was a young man with wild black hair and green eyes hidden behind round glasses. If not for the difference in height and the fact that he'd attended the funeral the blonde might have really believed he was looking at his friend. "You certainly took your time, Tom."

"Sorry, love. We ran into a bit of traffic." The brunet dipped and kissed him. "You remember Lucius, Rod and Bas and Bella, don't you? And Draco, of course."

"Of course. Even if I had forgotten, you made sure to reintroduce me last night. At least as much as you could do so without them being there." He said. "Everything should be ready in about ten minutes. Let's head inside."

"Lead the way, darling."

They followed the little raven into the house and towards the dining room which had already been set up for the dinner.

"Can I get anyone drinks? Water? Ice tea? Soda? Alcohol of some sort?"

"I can-."

"You work hard enough, Tom. Do _not_ make me tie you to that chair; it _won't_ be in anyway which you would enjoy."

Surprised laughter went up around the table as the much smaller male pushed the much larger one down into his seat before heading into the kitchen.

"You've got a fire breather, haven't you?" Rodulphus snorted. "Down to business, then?"

"Down to business indeed."

The usual banter of work dinners picked up again but Draco was far too distracted by the presence of the mystery raven to pay much attention at all. Becoming more and more concerned the longer that he looked on.

He'd come in and out at random, puttering around with drinks and food and only sitting down to eat when Tom finally pulled him onto his lap and fed him off his plate, blind to his squirming.

It was starkly clear that Tom had fully disassociated from the reality of what had happened to his husband and, that if Harry was acting he was doing a damn good job.

Trouble was he doubted that it was an act.

When the dinner ended and Harry had retreated to the kitchen with a small mountain of plates Draco rose from the table and followed him out.

"Let me help you with that."

He blinked at him from behind suds smudged glasses. "Oh, thank you. It isn't necessary but…I appreciate it."

"I can imagine; cooking and cleaning up after so many people has to be a lot of work."

"It was, but I was happy to do it. Tom works so much that I barely see him during the week, and he's done so much for me recently that I felt this was the least I could do." He set the plate that he'd been scrubbing aside and picked up another one. "He told me that you were acting oddly yesterday in the office. That you were staring at him." A half warning half playful smirk pulled at his lips. "He's married, Draco. Married to me. And I'm currently holding a knife."

The blonde flashed a strained smile. "So, where did he manage to find you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you ok?"

Harry stared at him for a moment, as if some part of him were contemplating answering that question in plainly discernable terms, but then his face shifted into concern. "Are you?"

"I…yeah. Sorry. I guess…it's probably just all the stress that comes with the job."

"You should sleep more. I'll suggest to Tom that he should stop working you so hard."

"Thanks. You think he'll listen."

He smiled and pulled the plug out of the drain. "Tom wouldn't deny me anything. He loves me too much."

"Draco." The blonde jumped and turned; his father stood in the doorway. "The dinner is over and it's getting late. We ought to be heading home now."

"Of course, father. Goodnight, Harry. Maybe we'll see each other again soon?"

The raven nodded. "That would be nice. Goodnight, Draco."

He followed his father out of the kitchen and joined the others in bidding their farewells to Tom. They spoke in hushed voices about what they'd seen once they'd exited the house. Of the depth of the brunet's delusions. Of the acting skills of the company he'd hired. Of how it was sad, disturbing, but ultimately seemed voluntary and was thereby nothing over which to be concerned, especially since it returned Tom to his former levels of productivity.

Draco knew that he'd seen that face before somewhere and that what they'd seen was _not_ normal. He'd need to contact Blaise and have him look into recent reports of missing persons; when dealing with Thomas Marvolo Riddle, one could never be quite sure.


	16. Boy Gone By

"I believe that you may have found this poor bastard." Blaise dropped the file onto the top of the bar with the sharp slap of paper on wood. "Though I'm not sure we could really call him 'poor'. If Riddle thinks that he's his husband Lord only knows he's being treated like a God." He straightened his uniform and sat down in the open stool beside him, waving the bartender over. "Boilermaker, please."

Draco tugged the file closer carefully. "What's in here?"

"Just a few pages of information printed off of the NamUs database; I just slid it into a file folder to better smuggle it out of the station without anyone noticing." He dropped the shot of whiskey into his beer and took a drink before it could froth over. "You owe me, Malfoy. I risked quite a lot getting that out to you."

"I'll pay for your drinks, then." Draco flipped the file open and almost spilled his Dark n Stormy into his lap. "Bleeding hell! It's him! Who is this?" He pushed the picture aside. "Harry Potter. His _actual name_ is Harry?"

"Yes it is. Harry James Potter. Nineteen years old. Born and raised in Denver Colorado. Son of Lily Potter nee Evans and James Potter. Disappeared just about a month ago with no history of running away and no trace. No leads that he's either alive or dead but his parents are insistent that he was kidnapped."

"It seems like they were right." He continued flipping through the information. "Whose numbers are these; phones, emails?"

"Assorted: Crime Stoppers. Denver PD. Parents. Godfather."

Draco grimaced. "Damn it. Don't get me wrong, Blaise, I want to get him back to his family, but…"

"I know. He's sick and he needs help, not jail. That's why I also included the emails of his two best friends, one Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Bit difficult to find but…they're your best bet to avoid involving the full force of the law, though I'll warn you that you'll probably only have one chance at it."

"Naughty cop; no wonder you're still traffic." Both chuckled over the rim of their drinks. "Thanks, Blaise. Really. I know that you risked a lot to do this."

"We're both worried, I think, for Tom. I don't know him all that well, but I do know that Harry wouldn't want this for him."

"You're right." He said. "Even when he was crumbling it was terrible. But now…he's returned to a twisted parody of normal and all at the cost of victimizing someone innocent. It isn't right."

"Everything will be resolved soon. It'll all go back to normal; as normal as is possible with Harry gone. There will be wounds, but…"

"It's better to let it heal than to pretend it isn't there." He set his cup down. "I'll get into contact with his friends in the morning. Ask them to come here and confirm it. And to help me get him out of here. Offer to pay for the plane tickets. Everything should be resolved within the next few days."

* * *

 _Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley,_

 _Enclosed are the receipts to a pair of plane tickets. I would appreciate it if you could come to speak with me regarding your missing friend, Harry Potter. I believe I may have located him, but due to extenuating circumstances and deep concern for the mental state of the potentially responsible party-my employer-I would like to have this matter resolved with as little legal involvement as possible so that he can get the help which he so desperately needs. And despite the heartfelt suffering of the victim and his family and friends I respectfully plead mercy on his behalf. I believe that you will understand once we have spoken about circumstances in person. I will pick you up at the airport after you have arrived._

 _Draco Malfoy_

* * *

 _"_ Are you sure about this, Hermione?"

"No, I'm not. Not at all, actually. But we're already here." The bushy brunet pulled her bag down from the overhead compartment and looked back at the freckled red head; he hadn't budged from his seat. "Oh, come on Ronald! Harry would do it for us, wouldn't he?"

"Hermione-."

"Yes, Ronald! The answer is _yes_ , he would!" She grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him up before dragging him down the aisle after the other passengers. "Harry wouldn't have hesitated to come after either of us for even a single second! You claim to be his best friend? Well, loyalty is part of that; come on!"

"And what if we're walking into a trap, Hermione?"

"Harry would have-."

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't have come, but maybe we should have brought the cops? Or at least let someone know?"

"We need the information that he's offering us and I doubt that he'd talk if we had contacted the police, Ron." Hermione said, scanning the crowd before noticing the blonde waiting nearby. "There he is. Come on."

Ron glared as they approached.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Draco, please. It will be important that you appear to know me; I'm not certain that he's dangerous or even that he's home but I know he has guns and it's best to be cautious."

"Can you please explain to us what's going on, Draco?"

"I can, but not here; let's step into one of these cafes. Airport fare is far from desirable but at least we can be sure that we won't be stumbled on." He led them into the nearest restaurant-a small coffee shop-and they sat down at a table. "Before we start I need to show you something."

"Show us what?" Hermione did her best to keep her tone polite as Ron eyed him with outright hostility.

"A photograph." The blonde pulled it out of his wallet and passed it across the table to them; a starkly familiar raven wrapped in warm clothing and covered in pigeons as he cupped a handful of breadcrumbs.

"This is…oh my God! When was this taken? This is Harry!"

"This was Harry, yes, but not Harry Potter. This was Harrison Leeds. I knew him since we were children; we went to school together. This was taken two years ago by his husband, Tom Riddle; a month later he was diagnosed with aggressive stage four leukemia. Almost one year ago now, he died and after it happened Tom lost his mind; couldn't function without him; slept at his grave. I'd never seen a man fall apart the way that he did. And then all of the sudden it was as if nothing had happened because in his mind it hadn't. He'd cracked."

"But what does this have to do with _our_ Harry, Draco?"

"Everything. Because he's kidnapped your Harry to replace his and through Stockholm Syndrome or Gas lighting or something else-I'm a lawyer not a psychologist-he's brainwashed him into believing it too." He replaced the picture. "They seem so happy together, but it isn't real. It isn't right. Tom…he's sick. It doesn't excuse what he's done but they won't help him in jail. He needs to be committed, but its best we get Harry out of there, first, as my employer is entirely divorced from reality and I'm afraid he could get violent if the fantasy world he's built is threatened."

"I think you're right. Getting them apart would likely be the safest option but…we might need to involve the authorities to do that."

"Not if you can talk sense into him. That's why I brought you up here."

"So our mate has been kidnapped by a potentially violent lunatic and you want us to break him out of the house while he's quite possibly there? You might need to be committed too." He sat back with a sigh. "Of course, we can't leave him there."

"Of _course_ we can't." Hermione said. "Are you able to take us to see him Draco? Today?"

"I am." He got to his feet. "Come with me."


	17. Fugue

The Riddle House was a massive stone building built in the style of a classical English manor, its roof adorned with numerous chimneys and walls crawling with emerald green ivy. Its sprawling grounds were well kept and the landscaping was beautifully done. Ron and Hermione both stared at the home in awe as Draco pulled the car onto the Serpentine gravel drive.

"I can't be certain, but I don't think he's here at the moment. The jaguar is the car that he always takes to work and he always parks it in the drive." He turned off the ignition and pushed open the door. "Come on; we should try and get out of here as soon as possible. Harry asked Tom to give me a day off, hence why I'm not stuck in the office today, but he also asked Tom not to work so much as well so he could potentially show up at any moment."

The pair quickly got out of the car and fell in behind Draco as he headed up the steps of the front porch and knocked on the door. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps could be heard from inside moments later, and then the wooden door swung open with a low creak of old hinges and the little raven peered out from around it.

"Draco." He chirped happily, breaking out into a wide smile. "Tom did as I asked and gave you that day off, then? Only took him almost a week."

The blonde shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard from him that the firm is insanely busy. We had to wait until things calmed down enough to allow us to leave the office." He said. "Is Tom at work?"

"Oh, no actually. He took the day off as well, on my orders. He's a mess with how much he works all the time; will kill himself if he isn't careful." Harry said. "He ran out to the grocer to get some ingredients for dinner tonight. And because we ran out of the correct Pinot Grigio to go with the dish that he plans on making. But he should be back in the next twenty to twenty five minutes if you'd like to speak to him about something."

"Oh, no Harry we're actually here to speak with you about some fairly important matters. May we come inside? Maybe have a drink?"

"Of course, Draco. You should have told me I was hovering in the door; ever since the treatment stuff like this has been getting away from me." He stepped aside to let them in. The foyer was small and dim, the furniture surrounding them was wooden and clearly antique. "The kitchen is this way; it's a bit brighter in there than in the dining room. I hope that the three of you don't mind."

"Lead the way."

The three of them pursued the little raven down the hallway and into the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the giant windows of the French doors onto the checker board tile flooring. He motioned to the stained wooden table that stood nearby.

"Have a seat; we have, let's see, water, ice tea, a couple different types of soda, coffee, beer, and practically every wine ever made in the cellar except the one that Tom ran out to get."

"Beer; whatever you have in the fridge. This is the type of situation that calls for an informal drink."

"Right. You too?"

"Oh, um, we're nineteen so…ice tea?"

"Coffee is fine."

If Harry noticed the way that the two of them were staring at him he gave no sign of it, puttering around the kitchen and returning with the requested drink and a can of soda for himself.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Draco?" he sent them both a somewhat cockeyed glance. "Have we met before?"

"Yes, mate, we have. It's me, Ron. Ron Weasley. And her? She's Hermione." The bushy brunet stepped on his foot under the table but Ron ignored her. "You really don't recognize us?"

He shook his head, popping the tab on his can and picking it up. "I'm sorry, mate. I don't remember ever meeting either of you." His voice waivered slightly, his expression shifting into something troubled though it seemed as if he didn't notice the fact that he was doing it. "It's possible that we could have met before and I simply don't remember it. As I said earlier, I lost quite a bit of my memory to the treatment for Leukemia. It took an extensive measure of chemotherapy to finally force the cancer into remission."

"Harry, you never underwent any chemotherapy." Hermione told him, voice strained but gentle, as if she were speaking to a wounded animal. "You never had Leukemia or any other form of cancer for that matter."

"I'm sorry, but my medical records would completely disagree with you in that regard. I had Leukemia. Aggressive Leukemia. And it was in stage four before they caught it. I had to undergo enough radiation to reenact Chernobyl on a small scale and my poor husband ran himself ragged bringing me back up to what could even be considered barely healthy."

"Harry, you're not married to Tom Riddle. You don't even know Tom. Not really."

"I-!"

"You're nineteen, mate. Our age. You do realize that don't you?"

"I'm twenty five and we've been married-."

"You've been _missing_!"

"No! Tom said I was at the hospital-."

" _Tom_ is the one who needs to go to hospital! He's lost all touch with reality!"

"I will not-."

"Haven't you seen the ads? The broadcasts? The posters? Your parents are worried sick; the FBI is involved and the search is going nationwide!"

"They're delusions-!"

"No! They're not delusions! What you're dealing with now, _those_ are delusions!"

"You're wrong! I'm-."

"Harry Potter!"

"No, I'm Harry Riddle!"

"Harry Riddle is dead." Draco thrust the phone at him across the table. A photograph of the gravestone displayed on the screen.

The raven leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over the table and sending his chair tumbling to the ground with a loud clattering sound. "Stop it! All of you!"

" _What is going on in here?"_ The wintry snarl from directly behind them made the trio jump. The raven pelted across the room and threw himself into Tom's arms, knocking him back into the wall; a sobbing shaking mess. The taller male's eyes were an inky black as he stared them down like a snake about to strike. " _How bloody dare you! Upsetting my husband like this when he's still recovering from his illness! Attempting to make him question his sanity when his state of mind is already so fragile! Get out!"_

"Tom, please. Don't yell."

"Hush, doll. I have everything under control. _Out! Do not make me repeat myself; I'll bloody call the cops on the lot of you for trespassing!"_

The trio exchanged a weighted glance as they rose quickly from the table and, with Draco in the lead, edged passed the hostilely glaring brunet and exited the house.

"So much for getting through to him. Maybe we'd have had a better chance if Tom hadn't come back when he did but…"

"I don't think we would have." Hermione said as they reached the car. "As you said you're not a psychologist, though I think a psychiatrist would be of more help in this situation, and neither are we. We need professional help. For both of them. I know that you don't want to risk putting Tom in jail, but-."

"No, I think you may be right. I was warned by the person who helped me get in touch with the two of you that I'd only have one chance at resolving the situation in this manner and it's obviously failed. Not to mention that it appears that Harry won't be leaving willingly of his own accord. I simply hope that I can trust-."

" _Malfoy_!" Riddle was tearing across the lawn towards them; Ron and Hermione scrambled around the side of the car but Draco wasn't fast enough and he ended up pinned to the hood with a metallic sounding pop. "If it weren't for the fact that you're Lucius' son I'd fire you. No, I'd do more than bloody fire you; you'd be found in pieces if you were even found at all! You're being reassigned immediately; I refuse to work with you further after you'd dare to pull something like this, and if I _ever_ catch you near my husband again…am I understood?"

"Yes, Tom, you're understood."

"Good. See to it that you continue to understand." He released him abruptly and stalked back towards the house; Harry was peering warily around the rim of the door at them.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked him as the blonde straightened his clothing.

"Yes, I'm fine." He said, rounding the front bumper of the car towards the driver's seat. "Get in, both of you. There's no reason to delay this beyond what we already have. I'll drive you to the police station to make the report."


	18. Tumbling Down

The stock and barrel of the rifle gleamed with polish in the evening light which filtered through the office windows as Tom sat behind the desk; the weapons which had been cleaned already on his left and those yet to be touched on the right. The boxes of ammo had also been removed from the gun safe and now sat stacked on top carefully arranged by supply and caliber.

Finished with the last of the small internal pieces he set the cloth and oil aside and quickly reassembled the rifle, sliding them back into place with a series of satisfying clanks. Picking it up and hefting its weight in his hands he checked the chamber to ensure that there were no bullets inside before taking aim at the door and peering through the sight. Pinpointing the grain of the wood with his hunting eye. Easily thinking back to the last trip he'd used it. The last trip that he'd taken before Harry had put his foot down regarding the 'slaughter of majestic creatures for sport' and asked him to stop.

 _The savannah sun beat hot and heavy down on the back of his neck, his hair felt like a drenched sweat sponge and he wasn't quite sure if the person responsible for inventing the safari hat should be thanked or shot. An arid breeze rattled through the tall tawny grass and a large herd of wildebeest thundered by off to the right of their car in the near distance. Tom leaned against the side of the Jeep, looking out across the African plains._

 _Harry would have loved it here. Would have loved the wide open spaces and the endless blue skies. The animals and the terrain. The people and the villages. What he_ _ **wouldn't**_ _have appreciated, more than likely, was the main reason that he and his father had come out to Kenya in the first place._

 _Big game hunting. Big cats, most specifically._

 _Regardless a large part of him wished that he'd still invited his husband along, if only for the chance to see the raven running around in a Shuka. He had no doubt that he'd appear as comfortable in the traditional clothing of Kenya as he would in his usual t shirts and jeans, just as he had with the Yukata when he'd dragged Tom along to Japan in pursuit of a supposed sighting of the Honshu Wolf._

 _"Wake up, Thomas. Now isn't the time for you to be dreaming of your husband, you've plenty of time to do so during the night. Head in the hunt, please, like I've always taught you."_

 _Tom Riddle Senior smirked at him from the other side of the car, the curls of his hair which were visible beneath the drooping brim of the safari hat he wore stained the platinum grey of steel wool though he'd aged well; with only a passing glance at his face he could easily be mistaken as fifty instead of almost seventy five. The brunet sincerely hoped that it was a glimpse into his own future, though God only knew if good genes would be enough to save him from the stress levels inherent to his job._

 _"Sorry, father."_

 _"Did he ever find his wolf? The two of you were in Japan for a few months; I'd have expected you to have bagged at least one of them in that time."_

 _"They've been officially extinct since the Meiji Period and even if there were any left the population would be extremely small. If I'd even suggested hunting them he probably would have shot_ _ **me**_ _."_

 _His father snorted. "Should have brought him along; his absence has you quite distracted."_

 _"I thought that this trip was meant to be a father-son thing. A last hoorah before the doctors tied you to a gurney."_

 _"It was, but you seem to be with him whether you bring him along or not."_

 _"It wouldn't have gone over well. He's a conservationist."_

 _"Isn't taxidermy a form of conservation?"_

 _"Jesus Christ!_ _ **Never**_ _say that to him!"_

 _"I don't know, Tom. A nice throw rug for the fire place might change his mind. A bit of Africa for the two of you to keep at home."_

 _Tom chuckled and shook his head, his father clapping him on the back. "That would take a special animal."_

 _"And if you had your head in the hunt, as you should, you'd have noticed her. Take a look around."_

 _He looked out over the savannah again, eyes scanning the golden grass then finally landing on what his father had been speaking of. He straightened up, eyes going wide. "Is that a…black…?"_

 _"That it is. A black leopard and a beautiful one at that. A bit young, but not a cub anymore; perfectly legal to bag." He picked up the brunet's hunting rifle and handed it to him with a grin on his face. "His birthday is coming soon isn't it? Catch your cat. Who knows, maybe we can sneak in one more trip and convince Harrison to come along for more than just sightseeing. After all, hunters are an important part of conservation."_

 _"Nice theory." Tom grinned, lifting the sight to his eye. "Keep dreaming."_

The rifle clicked as he pulled the trigger. "Bang." He chuckled and propped the riffle up against his leg to wipe off the last of the finger prints left on the barrel.

Before he could, though, the door of the office flew open and Harry came barreling through it, concern so strong on his face that it bordered on fear and his green eyes threatening tears.

"Nothing's loaded." He assured him, hastily setting the rifle on the desk to make way for him in his lap; the raven quickly took the invitation and curled against him. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Police."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'police'? Do I need to call them or-?"

"No, Tom! They…there are close to a dozen cars out there. S.W.A.T. Some of their vests say F.B.I. What's going on?" The brunet stiffened before gently unseating him and starting out of the room. "Tom-!"

"Hush, love. I'm just going to go and see what's going on." He twitched aside the curtain and hissed. "I should have known! Should have known that, when I hadn't seen hide or hair of that ferret bastard in three days that he was off doing something like this! Damn him!"

"What are we going to do?" Harry tugged on the tail of his shirt like a fearful child in the wake of a nightmare. "Tom, please, don't let them take me!"

"Take you? No one is going to take you, Harry." He pulled him in and kissed the top of his head. "No one will take you from me. No one and nothing. I will _not_ lose you. Not again."

"Again?" Harry repeated as Tom released him. "What do you mean 'again'?" when the brunet didn't answer he rushed out after him back into the office. "Tom!"

"They won't take you!" He snarled, shoving bullets into every gun within arm's reach by the handful. "I won't let them! Not unless it's over my dead, bloody body!"

"No! Tom, please! Don't do this; you could die!"

"I'm not going to die, Harry. I'm going to keep you safe!" He thrust the twenty two caliber into his hands. "Keep that. You may end up needing it. And stay in the bedroom; I won't want you in harm's way!"

"What about you?"

Tom shoved another pistol into his belt, dark eyes like charcoal. "I'm going to make sure that none of those bastards get inside! Will kill them all if I have to! We'll run to Canada. Mexico. Then from there we'll head somewhere where the US doesn't have an extradition treaty. I'll keep you safe until my dying breath; everything will be alright."

"Tom."

"Stay in the bedroom."

"Tom!"

"Harry, stay in the bedroom!"

" _Tom!"_

The brunet dragged him into a tight embrace, the butt of another pistol pressing into the small of his back as his mouth descended onto his. Harry clutched at his curls in a desperate effort to keep him close, pressing himself to Tom's body in an attempt to prevent him from stepping out of the office. "It's going to be fine. Everything will be fine. Just do what I ask; go into the bedroom and stay there until I come get you. I don't want you to have to see this. _Go_ , love!"

Harry hesitated a moment longer before taking the pistol that he'd been given and running into their bedroom, closing the door behind him and hunkering down in the corner between the nightstand and the bed. Flinching when the first gunshots rang out. Terrified that a stray bullet would rip through the floor and kill him.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the thunder died down into silence. Harry pulled his legs in tighter and buried his face in his knees. Trying to control his breathing as the door swung open and footsteps cautiously approached.

Tom. It was Tom. Tom had won and come to get him and they were going to-.

"Harry?" the voice was unfamiliar. "Are you Harry Potter?"

He raised his head to look at him; a towering bear of a man, dark skinned and with an earring in one ear. Not Tom. Not Tom at all. He eyed his blue uniform warily. "Potter?" 'I will _not_ lose you! Not again!' The picture of the gravestone. Everything that the others had said. "Yeah. I guess I am Harry Potter. Maybe. I…where's my husband?"

"Our concern is you, Harry. Let's get you back home. Back to your parents." He offered him a large hand. "Please put that gun down."

"I'm sorry, Officer," he squinted at the small name tag pinned to his chest, "Shacklebolt but _my_ concern is the welfare of my husband. Is he alright?"

"Put the gun down."

"Is he at least alive?"

The Officer stared at him for a few drawn out moments before he finally answered. "Yes. He's alive. But I can't say anything beyond that; the medics took him away in an ambulance."

"Will I know? When something changes? If he…?"

"When we learn something, I'll be sure to tell you."

Harry nodded, set the pistol aside and accepted the other man's help in getting to his feet. "Thank you."

"Let's get you back to your family."

His family had just been taken away in the back of an ambulance. He was now being led out of their home. His home. His…he didn't even know what was real anymore.

A slick of blood was smeared across the stairs, thick and dark red against the brown wood. He'd never seen so many police in one place before in his life. Someone draped a blanket over his shoulders as he was led across the yard and, soon enough, he found himself curled up in the back seat of a cruiser staring out the window at the house. Already possessed of the sinking feeling that he'd never seen the place again.

* * *

The just over two hours long flight had felt like an eternity to James and Lily but it was all worth it the moment that they caught sight of their son coiled up on a couch through the break room's window, wrapped up in a blanket and staring blankly at the wall. Even from that distance they could tell his eyes were red and puffy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter?" an aged man with twinkling blue eyes approached them with a congenial smile on his face, accepting the handshake that James was quick to offer him. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, a psychiatrist that works with the FBI; I'll be treating your son to help insure that he recovers."

"Thank you. So much. For helping him. Really, but…what happened to my baby? He looks like he's been crying."

"Harry's been through a lot, Lilly. It's only natural that he'd be a little overwhelmed."

"I'm afraid that it's a bit more than that. Your son was kidnapped by a man made delusional by the loss of his husband-which he shares both name and appearance-who was under the belief that he _was_ his husband and, through a combination of Stockholm Syndrome and numerous other methods of mental and emotional manipulation convinced your son into believing it as well. What had happened was brought to our attention, as well as the fact that Mr. Riddle had a small stockpile of fire arms due to a past hobby of hunting large game animals, and acted accordingly to resolve the matter with as little risk as possible. Unfortunately our fear that he would become violent when his fantasy was challenged turned out to be correct: he engaged in a fire fight with the authorities when they tried to retrieve your son."

"Was anyone hurt?" James asked; the grim look that the other man sent him was deeply unnerving.

"A few of our officers received minor wounds."

"And the kidnapper?"

"Mr. Riddle took six bullets to the chest trying to retreat up the stairs and reload. He didn't make it out of surgery; you son was informed half an hour ago after repeated demands for information."

"And you gave it to him?"

"Need I remind you, Mr. Potter, of the fact that he is still mostly under the delusion that he's Mr. Riddle's husband. That they were married for five years and were deeply in love. It is important to ween him off the illusion; going too quickly could cause a break similar to what Mr. Riddle suffered."

"Is he going to be alright?" Lilly asked worriedly. "Will he ever have our son back?"

"There's no need to fear, Mrs. Potter. It may take a couple of years depending on how deep the illusions run, but Harry will be ultimately fine." He assured them. "As long as his treatment proceeds delicately there should be no lasting damage."


	19. Epilogue: Together Again

Five years. Five years of 'treatment'. Five years of visits to mental facilities and cushy psychiatrist offices. Five years of being treated like glass by his family and friends. Five years of being reminded almost every other minute of who he really was. Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

But they were wrong.

They were so, so very wrong. They were wrong because they couldn't see the truth. The truth that Tom had known back when he'd found him again in another body. The truth that, now, he knew too. He was Harry Potter. But he was Harry Riddle too.

He'd said what he had to in order to get them to relax. To pull back. To stop watching him quite so closely, and then to stop watching him at all. To call him cured. Cured of the 'manipulations' that the 'maniac' had subjected him to. Cured of the 'fantasy'.

But they were wrong about that, too.

He'd resumed wearing their ring the moment that he'd been able to move out on his own. The moment that he'd left his supposed family and supposed friends behind, that he'd left Colorado behind, to begin his search. His search for his husband. He'd go to the ends of the earth to find him again, if he had to. He wouldn't give up. Not ever.

Tom had found him in another body. So it stood to reason that he would be able to find Tom in another body, if he looked hard enough. And two years later, seven years after his precious husband's brutal murder by the self-proclaimed police, he'd succeeded.

His name was Tom Gaunt, now, and he lived in a large house in the woods about half an hour outside Seattle. He worked as a model and liked to go out on the weekends to backpack the more rugged and isolated trails through the surrounding forests.

Like he was doing now.

His husband was alone in the deserted parking lot on a chill October morning, bent forward and fiddling with something in the hatch back of his car. He didn't notice the raven slipping out from behind the trunk of a tree or silently approaching him, but went deadly still the moment Harry looped the hand with the knife around his neck and pressed his face into his back. Between his shoulder blades. Breathing in his scent.

Not the same-instead of cinnamon and clove it was pine and orange peel-but that was alright. That didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were back together. Everything would be fine again once he reminded him of whom he _really_ was. Once they were home again.

"I've missed you, my darling." He purred. "I'll never let us be parted again."


End file.
